Justice In Flames
by Mokrie Dela
Summary: Johnny Klebitz's brother narrowly escapes an attempted assassination and, with the help of Luis Lopez, finds his former biker brother. Whilst they mysteriously disappear, Niko Bellic and ex-Isreali special forces mercenary Rami Yalon, now under the employ of United Liberty Paper, find themselves introduced to a radical plan to 'clean up' the city.
1. (Justice in Flames)

**GRAND THEFT AUTO: JUSTICE IN FLAMES**

Liberty City Will _Burn_


	2. Prologue

Niko Bellic hurried across the street in a break of traffic. He didn't want to obviously look around, but he knew he was being followed. It was a warm day, And Niko was wearing a light suit – a white shirt under a creamy-beige jacket with matching slacks. His footwear was a pair of Khaki running shoes. He also wore a pair of tinted glasses.

He rounded a corner, and began walking east. Traffic roared on the skyway meters above his head. To his left a siren sounded as an ambulance tore out of Westdyke Memorial Hospital. Niko ignored it and carried on.

The man watched Niko cross over and carried on walking. He used the next crossing to traverse across Panhandle Road. He had to be careful here; the target knew his face and a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap wouldn't hide him enough to be lax. Not that it was in his nature to be lax. He'd been working in the business for years, ever since he'd left Shin Bet. There was a reason he'd survived. He'd even earned himself a reputation. He did not, however, come cheap. But, to his employer, price was not an issue.

Ahead of him was the Serbian, walking along as if oblivious to the threat that lurked behind him. That was just a façade, the man knew. Niko had been trained, not only as a cold-blooded killer but, more recently, as a true operative.

Niko turned and cut through an alleyway. His car – or rather a stolen one - was parked there. He was confident that once he got in the car he'd be home free.

The man watched as Niko turned into the alleyway. _He's going for his car_ , he told himself. He wasn't worried however, as he'd already discovered the location of Niko's car – it hadn't been too hard to tail him earlier. The man had his own car, parked just round the corner.

The gamble was, however, whether Niko would turn left or right. If the target headed south, he'd drive right into the man's hands. If he headed north, the man could swing through the one-way system in seconds, even without driving illegally.

Niko walked in to the car park and had a look round. He saw no one, so he approached his car – a black Intruder RX – the new 2011 model of the vehicle. It looked a lot sleeker and sportier then the 2008 model, and still looked very much executive. A businessman's car. Niko liked the chrome trim around the windows. It reminded him of all the sleek electronic devices that were available for purchase in the shops. Cell phones, laptops and now even touch-screen pads. Niko planned to buy one of the new Fruit pads at the weekend. Niko checked his mirrors and, seeing no tails, started the engine.

The man had silently approved of Niko's mode of transport. The new Intruder RX was a very good car. Sure, it couldn't keep up with a Banshee or even a Sultan RS, but it could outrun most sedans.

The man sat in a dark-green, almost-black, Rebla, with slightly tinted windows. It wasn't blatantly a government car, but the subtle tint would go a long way to hiding the driver's face. Or at least obscuring it. This vehicle had been tuned, for better performance, compared to the usual variety. It wouldn't keep up with the Intruder in a flat-out straight, but it had more power at the low end.

The target Intruder appeared ahead. The man's ignition as already on and he began to pull out. Timing was crucial here. If done correctly, the Rebla would appear to simply be driving off, where it'd let the Intruder pass.

And that's exactly what did happen. The target pulled out and drove right past the Rebla, The man chuckled to himself. This was going to be easy.

Niko was heading into Liberty, or more specifically, back to 'H.Q.' He checked his rear view mirror, making a mental note of what vehicles where there, then headed for the Booth Tunnel.

The man wasn't sure about the tunnel. It seemed to work more in his favor than the target's. Perhaps it was just the simplest route – the man knew where the target was heading – that'd make sense. Then again, if the target had spotted his tail, it could be a good way to make a break for it. Not for the first time, the man wished he could read minds.

Niko was trying to remember the name of the vehicle. Nebular? No that wasn't it. Rebula... something like that. Either way, it had been following him since Alderney City. He'd taken a few random left/right turns, and one loop and, even though the Rebula had disappeared during the latter, it had reappeared by the time Niko had reached the tunnel.

The man felt the tug of complacency. It was not an unfamiliar feeling to him, but the wealth of experience he had developed over the years allowed him to ignore it easily. He was tempted to simply drive direct to the destination, but that was an emergency contingency, in case he lost the target. Besides, there's no telling whether the target would sneakily take a back door in, or stop off and change his apparel.  
 _  
Leave nothing to chance_ , the man told himself.

 _Rebla! That was it._ Niko now was sure he was still followed. _Damn._ That meant the car was dirty. He had to dump it.  
The realization occurred to Niko as he crossed the city limit line, painted onto the tunnel wall. He checked his rear view mirror. The Rebla was behind him, four cars and one lane between them. Traffic was usually thick in here. Niko planned to use that to his advantage. He knew where he had to go.

The traffic bottle-necked ahead. The man tensed up. He pictured the operation as a chess board. It was his target's move and as with chess – a game that the man was so-so at – he had an idea what his opponent's move was going to be. Frustratingly however, there wasn't much the man could do about it yet.

Niko reached the bottleneck and pushed his foot down. He felt the Intruder surge forward, and directed the vehicle through a gap ahead. _Like threading a needle_ , Niko thought.

The man cursed as the Intruder sped up. He tried to speed up but the traffic was boxing him in. He had to swing wide and force his way through the traffic.

Niko reached to top of the hill and, rather than turning left or right, went straight on, slowing down into a narrow alley.

 _Bad move_ , the man thought. It was easy to follow, but now the operation had evolved into a chase. The man knew Niko was better at balls-to-the-wall play. Being hidden was no longer an objective – at least not a high priority one. The target was urging his tail to bring the fight to him.

 _Very well, Bellic,_ the man thought. _Bring it on_.

Niko turned north at an intersection in the alley. He came out, crossed the road – barely missing a bus – and accelerated hard into the next alley. A feeling of déjà vu came over Niko, as he remembered chasing a biker the other way down here. _Seems like a lifetime ago_.

The man had to admit he was at a loss. He still had the target in sight but while the Rebla would fall behind on a straight sprint down the highway, it had the advantage in the myriad of turns of the city. The target had the top end speed, but the man knew he had the acceleration.

The target turned onto Frankfort Avenue. Now he had straight roads for a good couple of miles. The man didn't like that prospect. The second he straightened out on Frankfort Avenue, he floored it.

Niko made a break for Frankfort high station. He hurriedly parked the car under the track and ran toward the station.

The man stopped his car on the side of the road and leaped out into a sprint, following Niko up the steps.

Niko vaulted over the turnstiles and turned for the steps. He expected to hear a gunshot or a shout, but he heard nothing. He knew better than to turn around.

The man reached the top of the steps, jumped the barriers and made an on-the-fly decision which set of steps to take.

Niko slowed down to a rushed walk and moved down the platform. He could hear the tracks resonating as a train approached, even though the train was not yet visible. Niko kept moving, keeping the waiting passengers between himself and the steps.

The man reached the top of the steps and looked around. If he was being chased he'd break line of sight. That meant either using the crowds to his advantage or hiding behind a pillar. The man moved through the crowd to the platform edge.

Niko sensed a pair of eyes on him. He turned and saw his tail and stopped. _Well, well..._

The man stared at Niko. For a moment they just stood there, eyes locked on each other across the track. Neither really wanted to draw and instigate a shootout on a busy train platform. They entered a cold standoff. A stalemate.

Ultimately though, Niko had avoided drawing the short straw. The train approached and broke the man's line of sight.

The man cursed the wrong choice. It was a fifty-fifty choice. Left or right. Now though, he stood on the wrong side of the tracks as the train stopped on the other platform. Quickly, the man moved.

Niko boarded the train and sat down. _Come on_ , he willed the doors. _Close!_

The man jumped onto the tracks, causing some gasps from the crowd. He began to move toward the front of the waiting train when a low rumble made his blood freeze.  
 _Another train was coming._

The man saw it, and knew he wasn't going to reach the front of the train. He sprinted down the tracks, away from the approaching train, toward the rear of the stationary train.

The southbound train stopped as the man leaped up and clambered onto the far platform. He heard the automated voice from inside of the target's train.  
 _  
Stand clear of the closing doors_.

The man cursed and threw all he had into reaching the doors. He got there as the doors were closing. He turned his body sideways and zipped through the doors just as they closed. He collided with one of the poles just as the train began to move, which made him lose his balance.

"Whoa there!" A middle-aged gentleman said, catching him. "Cutting it fine, son."

The man nodded his thanks at the old man and scanned the carriage.

Nothing. He moved through to the next one.

Niko relaxed as the train pulled out of the station. He would get off at the next station and catch a cab back.

The man had reached the last carriage and saw Niko sitting at the end.

"Got you." He whispered before moving out of sight.

The train pulled into the next station and Niko stepped out. He headed down to the street and walked toward an alleyway. He'd just nip through here and call a cab. He wanted to be away from the station in case his tail drove here.

The man saw Niko disappear down the alley and moved to follow.

Niko saw a cab pass ahead and moved to catch up. He was almost at the far end of the alley when the hand grabbed his arm, spinning him round. The gun was pointed in his face.

"Rami," Niko said, catching his breath.

"Niko."

"I thought I'd lost you – twice."

"Afraid not," Rami said. "You almost did."

"Where did I go wrong?"

"When you came out of the tunnel you should have turned left or right. Break the line of sight, then make a break for it."

"I thought I had done that with the alley."

"Not quite. As I came up the hill I saw your brake lights. You'd broken the line of sight but you went straight on. Turn left, then left again. By the time I would have reached the intersection you would have turned off of it. I would have lost you."

"Can I have a do-over?"

"Sorry, Niko." Rami held the gun to Niko's head. "You know the rules."

Rami pulled the trigger.


	3. (Part One: A Dark Storm Rises)

**PART ONE**

 **A Dark Storm Rises**


	4. (Part One) The Changing of the Guard

Rami didn't like debriefings. They were a waste of time in his eyes. The job was done, why talk about it? Nothing could be changed. He rarely made mistakes worthy of reflection. The only review he valued was his own. But that was how things were done, weren't they? Not just in the United States, but also out in Israel, or anywhere else. Ultimately, did it matter?

Niko was a worthy adversary. Although Rami had triumphed, he had not wanted to face up against the man at all.  
Still, life was a series of events, expected or unexpected. You had to roll with some of them, and dodge the others.  
And so it was that they had another job. Rami sat in his car – a silver Habanero with darkened windows – as he cruised through the Liberty City traffic. He remarked on that word, job. Sure, this was his form of employment, but he didn't like calling each individual assignment a _job_. Rami didn't work behind a counter. He didn't like calling them missions either; too military.  
 _Assignments. That works_ , he decided.

And so he had another assignment. Soon he had pulled his vehicle in through the rolling door and into the secure underground car park. Minutes later he was in the office.

To a new face.

"There's been an incident," the man said matter-of-factly. "Your former employer was involved in an automobile accident. His Cavalcade was hit and fell off the elevated section of Union Drive. He was pronounced dead on arrival at Lancet Hospital."  
Rami nodded, as though hearing the weather forecast. He also noted the presence of two other men.

"As of now, I am your superior," the man continued.

Again, Rami nodded.

"There is, however, one compilation. I do not believe that this was an accident."

Rami raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Well firstly he was looking into some political corruption. Had he involved you two with that?"

Rami shook his head.

"I don't know whether it got that far. Either way, here's the flap: The Liberty City mayoral elections are approaching, as you're probably well aware of. There are two running parties. I believe that your former employer was murdered to ensure a certain party comes in to office."

"Makes sense," Rami turned and looked at his partner. "Political corruption?" Rami asked.

His partner nodded. "That seems to be a major theme in this country."

"Or indeed any country."

Rami's partner nodded. "Greed?"

"And power?"

Another nod.

"Alright that'll do," their new boss said. "Let me give you some background. You both remember Julio Ochoa?"

"The mayor."

"Yes. He had a hugely successful campaign to close all gun stores. Gun crime during his term was the lowest on record since the war."

"That didn't stop the sale of guns," one of the two mystery men said.

Rami shrugged. "There will always be illicit supplies."

"Exactly," their new employer said. "Things were good for Ochoa until the Kapowitz scandal."

"Yeah," Rami's partner nodded. "I know about that well."

"Of course you do," Rami poked with a wry smile.

"Indeed, gentlemen. Following that, Ochoa did not run for another term. This opened the doors to the current office's predecessor. Now fast forward to today. As you know the current mayor had continued Ochoa's gun policies. Only, they're no longer working."

Rami shared a look with his partner. "How so?"

"Where the gun shops were closed, other figures stepped in, selling guns illegally in alleyways, and out of car trunks."

"That's completely natural though," Rami said. "The illicit firearms dealers have existed long before gun control policies were implemented."

"True, but when you can no longer buy something legally, the demand and thus the supply goes up tenfold."

Rami nodded. "Logical."

"Which is a problem. To begin with Ochoa's policies were working, but in the long term they're simply not. Guns are no longer a rarity in this city."

"So what's this got to do with us?"

"My predecessor had run his operations to support Ochoa and his policies. In short to keep the streets supposedly gun free. However, as I said, it didn't work. They were looking at it the wrong way. Instead of banning firearms, they should have simply regulated them. This is the key issue between both parties running for the mayor's office."

"So one wants to keep guns banned, the other wants to legalize them."

"Yes, Rami," the new boss said. "By legalizing guns we'll drive out the organized crime element. No longer will old, often damaged guns be for sale. Every gun will be in a good condition. At the moment you could buy a gun in a dark alleyway, but when you go to fire it, it may backfire, or fall apart. We've had incidents where such has happened, and people have died – other than the intended of course. Instead of the gun being a danger to one person or a method of defense, it's endangered so many more.

"On top of that, the money made from the controlled sales of firearms can be injected back in to the city, and thus to schools and hospitals, police funding et cetera."

"So you're saying take the gun dealers out of the picture, steal their market and use the profits to support the city."  
"In a clench, yes."

"And where do we fit in?"

"Like I said , I suspect that the current mayor's office were aware of our existence, and made an attempt to eliminate us. The reason being, that they are in cahoots with the illicit gun smugglers and dealers, getting a tidy buck in the process. That puts us at war with..."

"...your own country."

"Not quite that extreme," the man told Rami's partner. "We're working on confirmation, but if they have killed my predecessor, then this elevates this to an entirely new level."

"So do we have an assignment?" Rami asked.

"Indeed you do. All four of you. Firstly we have to keep this contained. This does not leave this room. No one else may learn of any of this, is that understood?"

The man got four nods.

"Right. We are now operating black. Blacker than black. Invisible. Now a shipment of weapons has been secured and transported to places of our control. These weapons are to be used by us. They came from the middle east, and we're using them so there's no trace; guns bought from suppliers have model numbers on and can be tracked. These simply can't, because of where they came from. Does that make sense gentlemen?" More nods. "The only problem is the unit that procured the weapons. They have decided that they want something else."

Rami's partner raised his eyebrow. "Blackmail?"

"Yes, blackmail. This is a sensitive situation because these are American citizens – American soldiers. Kind of like your special friend," the man glanced at Rami's partner. Rami knew full well what he was talking about. Rami's partner nodded. "The blunt truth is that these so-called soldiers are threatening our operations. If they follow through on their threats of 'exposing' our operations – which, while not morally wrong, the public will disagree, mainly on the secret war subject – then we'll be finished."

The men nodded again.

"So to the meat: Two targets. One is the unit's commander – likely the one who decided to blackmail us. He is on his way to meet someone in an effort to expose us. This cannot be allowed to happen.

"The second target is a soldier of the unit. A captain, actually. I've managed to arrange a few other 'incidents' on some of the other soldiers but right now, these two targets are yours. There may be more afterward, too." The man picked up two manila folders and slid them across the desk.

"Firstly, to the Captain. He's blessedly traveling through Liberty City. I want you two –" the man nodded at the other two men, and Rami looked on "– to intercept this man before he reaches the Alderney ferry terminal, where he'll catch a ferry south. Make sure you eliminate him _before_ he disembarks from the ferry. The ferry is your last chance to eliminate him."

"Won't be a problem," one of the men said in a gruff voice, snatching the envelope up.

"Good. Now you two," the man turned to Rami, who had picked up the file and begun flicking through it. "This guy's trying to be slippery. He's on his way to Vice City to meet with his contact. Your flight is already booked, and a vehicle and weapons are ready for you down there. Get to the airport and locate the target. Follow him to whatever hotel he's staying in. Once there," The man bent down beside his desk and came back with a small case, "plant this tracking device on his car. You can track it through the modified sat-nav, which is in here as well." He slid that across the table to Rami. "Find out who he's meeting with, and eliminate them.

"Gentlemen, I don't need to tell you the importance of doing this low key. No witnesses if possible. Quietly." The men nodded. "And careful with the files. Memorize the details then destroy them. Do not let anyone even see the envelope. Keep them hidden and safe until their destruction." The man sat back and stared out at the four men in front of him, each one skilled. He watched them for a moment as they looked through the files then coughed. "Alright gentlemen. Off you go."

A few moments later Rami and his partner were outside.

"What do you make of that?" Niko asked.

Rami offered a single-shouldered shrug. "An assignment's an assignment."

Niko squirmed. "I'm not sure. It all seems a little thin to me."

"Makes sense to me. It's all about money. Whichever way you look at it, guns are being sold on to the streets. At the moment they're coming in from overseas suppliers, stolen, bought – whatever – and smuggled in through the borders. That's a lot of work and risk – the smuggling part in itself is a huge operation. We've both seen it and how it can go wrong. The level of danger is significant. Then the guns are sold through the local dealers for a high price. He's right, if guns are legalized, the smuggling operations are drastically reduced. The money goes to the 'right' people."

"The right people – you believe that?"

Rami shrugged. "We're talking guns, Niko. Humans have a natural instinct to kill. Think about it; from the dawn of time, there's been war. Ochoa was ignorant. You cannot stop the sale of guns. There will always be someone selling them."

"But there will still be people selling them illegally."

"True, but much less of them and the margin for profit will be smaller. It won't be worth it; obtaining them, shipping them, smuggling them moving them under risk..." Rami shook his head. "It's not worth it."

Niko nodded. "I guess."

"Niko," Rami laid a hand on Niko's shoulder. "You need to segregate. We've got some work ahead of us. You're a good operator, but you have one flaw."

"What's that then?" Niko asked with a scowl.

"You're too moralistic. Too concerned with right and wrong. Now I put that down to your experience in the Baltic, but still. You're a skilled and dangerous gunman, but your conscience gets in your way. A killer with a conscience is a danger to himself and others around him, Niko. When the chips are down, I need to know that you can pull the trigger without asking whether you should. People will capitalize on it. Imagine a kid comes up to you, aiming a gun at you. Or your cousin. Could you shoot that kid?"

Niko stared with weary eyes.

"I don't think you could. As a result of that you'd get shot, or your cousin would get shot. Because you can't do it. I like you Niko, but I'm a..."

"...professional?" Niko asked, holding back what he wanted to say.

"You know I hate that word, but yeah. This assignment is the priority, not friendship. If you're unable to operate objectively then... I cannot work with you."

Niko bit his tongue. Rami was right, he knew, but he didn't like hearing it. In fact he'd rather have a conscience and morals then be like Darko. Or Dimitri.

"Look Niko," Rami continued, as if reading the Serbian's mind. "I'm not a monster. I do have morals, I do have a conscience. But in this game, there is no room for such things. I leave that at home. Perhaps it's my training; all my life I've been trained to do this kind of thing. You kind of had it thrust upon you. Listen, we've got..." Rami looked at the ticket he'd pulled out of the file. "Our flight's in the morning. Go home and chill out or whatever. If you can not think so much about things, I'll see you at the airport in the morning."

"And if I can't?"

"Then this isn't for you. Go drive a cab or something. For what it's worth, I do hope you're there in the morning. I think we work well together."

Niko nodded and the men shook hands. Rami walked to his silver Habanero and Niko to his Comet. He had an hour's drive ahead of him – longer if there was traffic – and he used that time to think.

Niko pulled his car onto the driveway, stopping it behind the minivan that sat in front of the garage. He'd spent the drive mentally reviewing the exercise, which Rami had 'won' with a cheeky sense of theatrics. The assignment was also on his mind. He stepped out of the car, shutting and locking it. He could hear the engine ticking as it cooled – or was that the body? He shook his head. _Who cares?_ He pushed the doorbell.

Instantly his spirits lifted when the door opened. It wasn't just the sight, but the smell.

"Niko!" Roman sang, instantly embracing his cousin. "Come in, cousin." Niko followed Roman to the kitchen where Roman fetched Niko a bottle of beer – a tradition they'd developed whenever Niko came round. In the mornings it was a coffee, or tea, which Roman had started drinking on his honeymoon. To anyone else, Niko knew, the image would be strange. Having a child had changed his cousin. He still ran his cab company – relatively successfully too. Sure, he didn't have the money for a luxury penthouse, a Super Drop Diamond and a yacht and there was no mansion, or Barbara with big titties – though Mallorie had put on a couple of pounds since the pregnancy and her breasts appeared larger, but Niko caught himself from such observations. She was still attractive, and in good shape – another change that had been impressed unto Roman. He'd started exercising – not with Brucie, thankfully, but he jogged round the block most mornings, and visited the gym often. He was not a skinny man, but he looked healthier. Niko remarked on the irony in that. Now, when he no longer pursued wanton girls, but his appearance would probably allow him to pick up pretty much anyone. Niko smiled at that thought as his cousin handed him the beer.  
"Mallorie's not in," Roman said and, for a second, Niko worried that Roman had trespassed on his thoughts. "She's taken Kate to the park."

Niko smiled at that, something he didn't do much before the child's birth. The name stirred up mixed emotions for Niko. Every single time her name was mentioned his thoughts were cast back to Kate McReary. He remembered her and some said that she'll live on in memories. But Kate Bellic was a beautiful girl. Her face promised to grow with the grace and beauty of her mother's and the eyes had the same playful nature that Roman once had.

"I still see Kate in her you know," Niko said. Roman nodded. He knew the story.

"How is the rest of the family?"

"What's left of it?" Niko shook his head, knowing that he was responsible for the Irish-American family falling apart. "Packie's back in Ireland."

"I thought he was in Thames City."

"He was. He was working with some club owner, but there was a raid – something to do with drugs – and the guy had to split. So Packie went back to Ireland with him."

"What made him leave Liberty?"

Niko frowned. "Haven't you asked me that before?"

"He left two years ago, Niko," Roman laughed. "I've slept since then."

"I think it was his family. He'd had enough of Liberty City." Niko shrugged. "Soon he'll be fed up with Ireland and go to Vice City, or Los Santos or something."

Again Roman nodded. "He's been through a lot."

"Haven't we all?"

They sat there for a minute before Roman offered Niko a late lunch. Niko laughed.

"What?" Roman scoffed with an open mouthed half-smile.

"Coming here's like stepping into a different world."

"Well this isn't Liberty." Roman had moved after his wedding to a small town north of Liberty. The houses were nice – colonial style – and the neighborhood was picturesque. In the summer the place looked sublime, with trees evenly lining the road, sitting on the flawless grass between the asphalt and the concrete sidewalk. Detached houses sat neatly set back from the road by lawns and driveways, with well kept gardens. Roman referred to the road as American Dream Street. The perfect image of American suburbia. Another irony hit Niko; only when Roman had stopped pursuing his dreams had they finally come true.  
It was quiet too. There was no highway nearby, and the main thoroughfare wasn't hugely busy. Very little traffic came down the street – only residents of the street or surrounding ones, or the odd driver taking a suburban shortcut, or perhaps getting lost.  
Niko loved visiting Roman and family. His niece – not technically his niece, Niko knew – always cheered him up. He had managed, with Roman's family's help, to put the war behind him. Darko, Dimitri, while still remembered, were nothing more than a memory. Coming out here was a joy and it made him forget his _that_ reminded him why he'd come.

"Do you enjoy what you do?" Niko asked.

"What? You mean my family?"

"No – your job. Running your cab company." Roman's cab company had grown. His headquarters was now an office in Algonquin, with the cars being run out of the back, onto a main road. He'd never contend with the yellow companies, but he had, rather smartly, marketed his cabs as "comfort cabs". In fact, his business's tagline was "Comfort Cabs – Ride in style." He'd also been voted for – and just beaten to – a city award. Although Roman had not won the award, his cars wore the "nominated" badge with pride – one day, Niko was sure, to be replaced by the 'best of liberty' badge.

"Yes," Roman said. "It may not be glamorous but it's nice." Roman no longer ran dispatch. He simply ran the company, and could afford tons of time off. He'd made it. "Why?"

"I've got a new assignment – as Rami calls it."

Roman nodded. Part of him disliked his cousin's choice of work. But another part took solace in the fact that Niko was working for the good guys... well, working against the bad guys at least. While unorthodox, and probably illegal, Niko was doing good work; protecting the city. Roman did, however, want Niko to quit and join him in the good life.

"What's this assignment about then?"

Niko laid it out to Roman, knowing that he shouldn't be telling anyone and not caring about that rule.  
Roman listened patiently and, once Niko had finished, with a 'there you have it', leaned back with a sip of beer.

"Well?" Niko asked. Roman was quiet for a moment. His face told Niko he was thinking.

"Niko. As a father, I want the best for my child. I want her to be safe. I don't want guns on the streets. You're right when you said that they're sold anyway – you can buy a gun from a gun store or if they're illegal, a dealer. I don't know whether reopening the gun stores will work, but... " Roman shrugged. "Kill the organized crime element? I can see that. I would rather there be none though – for the safety of Kate and Mallorie. I've been shot, Niko. Alright, I survived, but it wasn't nice." Roman shook his head. "But if the mayor's corrupt, working with the gun smugglers... I guess it's the lesser of two evils."

"So do you think I should go along with the job?"

"I would rather a way to rid the streets of guns completely, but yes, Niko. I think that perhaps you should. If the mayor's deliberately flooding the street with illegal and potentially dangerous guns... He needs to go."

Niko nodded. "Thanks cousin."

Roman cocked his head, and then stood. "How about that lunch?


	5. (Part One) Target Zero

Rami sat in the terminal, a newspaper in hand. By natural instinct, he'd scanned the vicinity, looking for threats and escape routes, ambush points and hiding spots. He knew if there was trouble he won't run to the left, where there's a lot of guards and cops. Service areas, yes, that'd do.

He wondered about what Niko had said. Why did the Serbian have doubts? Rami wondered who had the right mentality. Was it him, with his objective eye, seeing everything in an operational way? Or Niko, with his morals so prevalent? Sure, Rami's detached attitude made him one of the best operators around, but did that mean he wasn't able to identify the bad guys? Did he care?

He briefly thought of his son and his ex wife. Sure, he cared about them, but one couldn't afford to have that on your mind while working could they?

Rami caught himself. As soon as he'd left his home, he'd been 'on-mission'. That meant his mind had to be on the job. He set the newspaper on his leg and folded it.

He saw the movement out of the corner of his eye. A figure approached. Rami saw himself leaping up, grabbing his carry-case and using it as a weapon. He'd stun the man and, with an elbow to the solar plexus, duck behind the man where he could kick out his knees, grab his head/neck and –

"Niko," Rami said as soon as he made him. "I didn't expect to see you here."

Niko sat next to Rami. "Well, I am."

"Evidently." Rami checked his watch. "Cutting it fine though."

Niko shrugged.

"You want a coffee?" The Israeli stood and gestured to the terminal's food court.

Niko nodded "A muffin would be good."

Rami nodded and walked off toward the food court, careful to hide his smile from Niko.

"I hope you didn't take offense to my comments yesterday," Rami said as he sat back down, handing Niko his apparent breakfast. Niko took the muffin, having only had a couple of slices of toasted rye and a coffee. Niko sipped at the coffee, which was terrible. The muffin was alright though, if a little dry.

"No. I understood your point."

"I think my biggest advantage is my ability to detach myself when we're working. I think I expect that from everyone else."

"No one's perfect."

"No, that's right. I got myself arrested once." Niko nodded. He knew that, but not why. "I was twenty three. I'd signed up for the military when I was underage – somehow I got in." A shrug. "I supposed it happens – World War Two, for example. I'd joined Shin Bet and we were pursuing a Palestinian who we believed had something to do with Munich in '72. I was ten when that happened." Rami shook his head. "Things went wrong, and I was witnessed eliminating our target. I ended up being charged for it, but later I was released and," Rami chuckled nasally, "deported."

"You said you were Mossad didn't you?"

"Yeah, that was after. That didn't last long. Funny really. They taught me everything I needed." Niko didn't know when Rami had left Mossad – or why. He'd never asked.

A moment later their flight was called, and it was time to board. Their conversations on the flight avoided their histories and missions.

Niko was struck by the weather. Flying was not something he did often, and this journey threw him off slightly. He'd woken and gone out in the cool, crisp air, with the sky darkened despite the dawn and threatened rain, and now he walked around the airport, glad he'd chosen a cream linen suit with a white shirt. He'd stepped out of the cold, into a metal container, and then out into almost tropical weather. He felt slightly discombobulated by the transition, despite the several hours spent in the stale air of the plane.

"Hurricane season," Rami said beside him. Niko turned and raised an eyebrow. "They're common down here. Up in Liberty we get rain and sometimes storms, but down here, the weather turns angry. Los Santos gets earthquakes, the mid-country gets tornadoes..." Rami shook his head. "Nature must be pissed with this country."  
Niko chuckled. "How long have we got?"

Rami checked his watch. "Hours yet." When they had stepped off the plane, Rami had a message waiting on his phone – as had Niko. The target's flight was on its way.

"Want some lunch?"

Rami cocked a shoulder. "May as well. We've got a time. I could go for a good Jambalaya."

"You think we've got time to head into the city for it?"

"We've got to pick up our car anyway." Rami looked at his watch. "Yeah."

The man walked out of the dingy bar, allowing himself to cast an appreciative glance at the parked choppers. He walked to his car – an old Clover, which wore a patchwork of replaced bodywork and a slightly twisted rear fender, framed with rust. He got in, greeted by the familiar reluctant creak of the door closing. Even the seat creaked. He keyed the ignition, the car spluttering to life after two attempts. It usually took three. He leaned over and fumbled with the radio, getting nothing but static.  
"Guess you're not feeling like working today, huh," the man growled. He sighed and put the car in gear.

Home for him was a static trailer in a trailer park. His closest neighbor – whose trailer was fifteen feet from his own – was, ironically, a man named Billy. He was a decent guy, though. A bit of a hillbilly, Billy-Bob was a mechanic with a taste for whiskey and moonshine. He fitted in strangely well. He hadn't bothered shaving much since he got here, so he'd grown a casual beard. Sometimes he didn't even recognize himself in the mirror – which was good, he thought; it meant no one else would either.

The man locked his car – the old fashioned way – and went into his trailer. He switched on the light, which wasn't quite bright enough, tossed his jacket onto a small table and slumped down on his chair, switching on the TV, which sat on the wooden core of a cable reel.

He spent a few minutes channel surfing before standing up and moving to the refrigerator. After sticking his head inside, he pulled out, sighing, then moving to a cupboard. Inside sat four bottles of Pisswasser.

"Nothing worse than warm beer," he mumbled to himself, his voice hoarse from years of alcohol abuse – more so recently. While he was up there he had a search for some late dinner, and found nothing other than a box of pop-tarts – a day past their use by date. He examined them for a moment then shrugged, popping them in the toaster. A minute passed and the toaster _clunked_. He grabbed the pop-tarts and slumped back in the chair.

The TV was crap. He didn't have satellite – no digital TV for him – and the reception was poor. Three times the picture faded in blizzard of static and, by the time he'd finished his meal, he'd had enough. The signal went completely by the time he got up. He dropped his plate on the floor, tossing the empty bottle next to it. He walked to the trailer's door and opened it to a wall of rainfall. The sky flashed a bright white then, a second later, the sky rumbled with fury. The man shook his head and lit a cigarette. He didn't used to smoke but he'd taken it up a couple of years ago. He turned back to his jacket and dug for his wallet. Opening it to no money, he sighed. He'd half-entertained hiring a hooker but he couldn't cover it. Whatever. He turned to the table and pushed a newspaper off, revealing a nudie magazine. A second later he threw it back.

"Nah."

He returned to the door via the cupboard and with another bottle of beer he sat and watched the rain.

Rami had, in fact, ordered the Jambalaya, and a non-alcoholic cocktail.

"So you're okay with our mission then? Both today and overall."

Niko nodded. "Yeah. I spoke to my cousin about it..."

"Is he your moral compass?"

"No, but he helped me look at it objectively."

"Hell, _I_ could have done that."

Niko shrugged. _But you didn't,_ he didn't say. Instead he waved his fork about as he spoke. "Either way there's going to be guns on the streets. Legal or illegal. It doesn't matter. If they're legalized, why would you buy from a back-street dealer?"

"In a rush?" Rami took a sip from his glass. "Short of cash?"

"For the most part, though. Mostly it'll eliminate poor quality guns, prevent jams, and them exploding like what happened to that kid."

"Three people died from that. They were probably gangbangers anyway, but they may not have been. It could have been anyone else." _It could have been Roman, defending his infant child against a house intruder,_ he managed to not say.

"And it's more money in the city's pocket – not the gangsters'."

"Exactly, Niko. Either way, I'm getting paid." A shrug and a mouthful of Jambalaya. "What you make of Vice?" Rami pointed his fork out of the window.

"It's hot. Maybe I should retire here."

"There's as much crime here – drugs, mostly. In fact there's probably more drug crime in Vice then in any crime in Liberty. I came here once with Mossad, to see the battle against the drug runners. Massive operations, those guys were running. Smart people. Made it very hard for the authorities to do anything. Lots of nightlife here too. That means a lot of high-end crimes. A shit load of money to be made or lost... Kind of makes me want to go to Venturas."

"Looking for a well paying mob boss like Petrovic then?"

Rami turned and looked out of the window. "I was thinking more of a tan. I think though, when this is over, I may head out to 'Santos. Change of scenery, I feel like working in the sun."

The two men stood in the large, exquisitely decorated lobby. Hoards of men and woman flocked to and from the trains, and the door to the city streets flapped almost constantly. It had started to rain outside, so umbrellas were on show, being opened and closed.  
The larger man leaned in and said something to the other man. Both glanced toward the nearest door, where a cop stood, talking in to his radio. The two men shared another word, then returned to watching the crowds.

Five minutes later the smaller man back-handed his partner's arm. He nodded at a man walking through a break in the crowd, towing a small case behind him. The larger man brought his phone up and looked at a photo on it. Then he nodded and the two moved to follow.

Their car – a Grey Washington – was parked opposite the station, in a parking bay on Columbus Avenue. The larger man glanced at the building to the west, where they'd sat and received their orders. Then he turned his attention to the car and got in, nodding at his partner who headed to a motorbike.

They'd made a good guess, they saw a moment later. Their target had flagged down a cab from the street-side shelter and, after getting in, the cab headed toward them, turning west just before reaching the parking bay.

The Washington and bike followed.

He was heading for the tunnel - an obvious observation. The Washington moved to overtake.

A block from the tunnel they made their move. The Washington cut up the cab, causing it to stop abruptly. The man got out and immediately drew his gun – a shotgun. The smaller man had dismounted his bike and was also approaching, a submachinegun in his hand.

The cab driver looked up, his face pale and frozen. Then, as the men brought their guns up, the driver reacted, throwing his car in reverse. The shotgun protested the move, firing into the cab's hood. The engine coughed, but the cab still moved. The cab driver put the car back in gear.

That's when the smaller guy opened fire. He emptied a clip in two seconds and reloaded quickly. The windshield ate the bullets, spider-webbing as the glass broke. The side window shattered, revealing hurried movement from within.

The shotgun fired again, tearing half of the windshield down. The driver's door opened and a man – the target – fell out. He stumbled to his feet and the shotgun fired again. The door took most of the buckshot, but the man's leg flinched, obviously hit.

The target lunged forward and, with a limp, ran into a nearby alley. The smaller gunman moved toward the cab and slid over the hood, his gun coming up as he reached the alleyway. The larger man followed.

The man had collapsed into a heap, and was trying to crawl away. The smaller hitman entered the alleyway and reloaded his gun. Then he had a change of mind, and pulled out a small revolver. He twirled it round in his hand like a cowboy and approached the crippled man, a sinister grin on his face.

He planned to say something clever, and turned to deliver his farewell.

The smaller hitman didn't expect the man to position his one good leg bent in front of him. He threw all his strength into his leg, springing up with remarkable explosive power. One hand slapped at the revolver, which clattered to the floor. The other hand wrapped around the hitman's slender body. The hitman stumbled backward until his back hit a wall. Then the man, dodging the swing from the now gun-less hand, grabbed the attacker's head and slammed it against the wall. The attacker went limp.

The larger man was near now, and bringing his gun up. A single shot sounded but missed, the target dropping to the floor and grabbing the revolver. He didn't think twice and fired two shots straight away. Then he noticed the submachine gun poking out of the unconscious man's body. He did a quick swap.

The large hitman had taken cover behind a dumpster. He waited a second then came out, only to see the muzzle of the submachinegun in his face.

"Drop the gun," the 'target' said weakly. The hitman obeyed, knowing that if the man was unarmed, or even only had a knife, he could take him.

For a moment, there was a standoff. The injured man moved round slowly and awkwardly. A minute later, the target stood between the large hitman and the alley's entrance. He began to backtrack. A few seconds later the distance between them was enough that the large man felt it safe to go for his gun.

The injured man fired, causing the hitman to hide behind the other side of the dumpster. He poked his head out to fire but the injured man's gunfire made him think twice. He'd got one shot off but it had missed.

A second later he poked his head out again, to see the man had disappeared. He went to run after him when he heard an engine gun. Half a second later he saw the Washington drive past.

"Shit," he growled.

They'd picked up the car – a black and chrome Admiral – and driven back to the airport. On the way Niko had gotten a glimpse of the city. It was certainly different to Liberty.

Niko stayed with the car, waiting outside. Rami went into the airport and, just over fifteen minutes later, returned. He walked toward Niko's car, not once looking directly at the target, who Niko had noticed as Rami had exited the terminal.

"See him?" Rami asked, closing the door. The Israeli's demeanor was calm but his eyes were determined, his mind highly focused.

"Yes," Niko replied as the man got in a Marbelle. He started the engine.

They followed the Marbelle away from the airport and onto the freeway. A couple of turn-offs later they followed onto the surface roads.

"Easy here, Niko," Rami warned as they approached a red light. A minivan sat between them and the target which did a good job of concealing them. The Marbelle turned left and, with a stroke of luck, the Minivan followed. Only once did they get too close to the Marbelle, with Rami warning Niko who eased up on the accelerator. Rami was – rather smartly, Niko thought – holding a map up. If the target looked back he'd see two men in a car looking at a map, probably lost. Neither man was worried they'd be identified.

A motel appeared and the Marbelle turned off. Niko carried on, passing the motel and, once out of sight, pulled a quick U-turn. He then pulled over opposite the motel's entrance, seeing the Marbelle stop outside the reception office. A man stepped out and disappeared into the office, coming back a minute later with keys in his hand. The Marbelle moved forward and the passengers entered a motel room.

"Six," Rami said, looking through an magnifying eyeglass.

"Shall we get a couple of rooms?"

Rami shrugged. "May as well. No idea how long they'll be here for. I'll go in and get it sorted. Keep an eye on the car."

The tracking device was smaller than Niko had imagined. He sat on the edge of his bed, examining it. Rami had, for some reason, brought his own bed sheets, and set them on both beds. Niko thought it was a little excessive, but Rami insisted that it was important to not leave a trail. Niko shrugged, unsure whether it was actually necessary.

"Best get that on the car."

Niko nodded and stood, stepping out into the dark. He walked towards the Marbelle, and took cover behind a blue Merit. Then he crept toward the Marbelle and slid underneath. He affixed the tracking device on the underside of the car, securing it in place. Once done, he sneaked toward the road and looped round, returning to his and Rami's room.

"All done," Niko said once he'd shut the door. Rami, holding the tracker, fumbled with a switch. He held it up.

"Working."

Niko slumped on the bed. "I need some rest."

Predictably, the target stayed the entire night. The tracker would beep loudly if it began to move. Rami had set an alarm for half five, aiming to be up and ready for the day before their target.

Rami and Niko took a walk across the street to a cafe, where they had breakfast. The target, and his two bodyguards, evidently had the same idea as they walked in shortly after Niko and Rami had begun to eat their breakfast – waffles and pancakes respectively.

"It's a shame we don't have time to visit the beach," Niko said, his cup of coffee in his hand. He sipped it as Rami spoke with a shrug.

"Distractions. We need our minds focused."

Niko nodded. "I was just saying."

Rami cocked his shoulder. "How's your cousin?"

"He's doing great. I never thought he'd be the family man. Nice house in the suburbs, wife, child, a successful business. Things couldn't be better."

"But what about you? All very well everything being perfect for him, but you?"

Niko sighed. "I had a conversation with Roman before. I asked him what was I good at. The answer is this." Niko waved at the cafe table, with a point at the motel. "At first it was because that was all that was open to me. I was not a builder, or a carpenter. I was none of those things. The only option I had was..." Niko frowned, searching for the words.

"Mercenary work." Rami offered. Niko nodded. Rami took a sip of his orange juice then spoke again. "Did you have any dreams as a kid?"  
Niko laughed. "An Astronaut." Rami couldn't tell if he was being serious or not. "There wasn't many options for me following the war." Niko sighed. "War..."

"...It changes people." Rami said, finishing the sentiment.

"You never saw warfare?"

"Not the same as you, but we went on operations, secret missions to eliminate someone or a faction or to recover something. I've seen my share of combat, it wasn't open conflict and it was hidden from the public eye..." Rami's eyes went distant for a moment, as though remembering a past trauma. "But we move on. I suppose in some ways we're still fighting a war." Rami flicked his thumb toward the motel, referring to the target, who now sat a few tables behind Niko.

There was a short refrain, broken by Niko. "Any ides who this guy's meeting?"

"No, and it would be harmful to speculate to as such. This is a classic assignment style; follow and observe. When we identify the contact we will have to split up, or commit to follow one. With the tracker we can, theoretically, eliminate the contact then backtrack to the primary."

"Do we not run the risk of losing the commander if we do that?"

Rami shrugged. "No more so than we run the risk of being broadsided by an eighteen-wheeler. It _could_ happen, but it's unlikely, and we cannot plan for such. Unless the tracker is discovered, or the target switches cars – which he has no reason, nor do i anticipate him to – then we should have no problem tracking him down."

Niko nodded. "I'm thinking it may be better to split up."

"Perhaps. So far we have seen zero counter surveillance effort from the target. He'll be relying on anonymity."

"So we go for one after the other?"

Rami chewed on that for a moment. "You don't agree?"

"I'm thinking of – how you put it? – the X factor. What if he goes straight to the airport and boards a flight before we get back to him? Or jumps on a train?"

"Split up?"

"We're both more than capable, and our targets aren't aware that they're targets."

Rami nodded. "Alright, let's split up then. Who takes who?"

This time Niko shrugged. "Does that really matter?"

"We'll have to get another car."

"Easy," Niko grinned.

"Until someone reports it and the cops pull you over."

"We can't plan for that, remember."

"Actually, we can avoid it."

"Rent?"

"Yeah."

Niko shook his head. "I'll just take one."

"What if there are none around?"

"You're not going to rest until I concede, are you?"

Rami smiled. "It's a small detail, easily rectified, that could compromise the mission."

Niko nodded with his own grin then, a moment later: "But when will we have time to get a second car?"

Rami stared for a moment then laughed. "Touché, Niko. We should have thought of this earlier."

Niko chuckled. "What was that about planning things?"

Rami laughed but Niko could see the annoyance on his face. Rami knew they should have planned for this, and their failure to do aggravated him.

The two men finished their breakfast and left their money, walking out the door without looking at the target. They used their time advantage to clear out their motel room and check out.

"Promotion? Shit, Dess, to what?"

"Your old job, head of security." Dessie's statement spawned a chuckle from his boss. "Think about it, L. You're running this place now, and you're always saying you haven't got time."

Luis Fernando Lopez sighed and stared out at the newly renovated nightclub. "How about a trial run?"

Dessie smiled but it was interrupted by a crash that jolted the building.

"What the hell!?"

"Sounded like it came from the road."

"I bet some drunk's driven into the bus stop again," Luis said, leading Dessie outside.

Both men frowned at the Washington that sat mangled by the door.

"Damn. Guy musta driven right into the building." Dessie moved to the car. "Hey, there's someone in there."

Luis approached and had a look. Dessie spotted the wound first. "Shit."

"He's been shot," Luis added redundantly.

"I'll go and call the cavalry."

"No!" A raspy call sounded as Dessie turned to the club.

"Wha's that, L?"

"Weren't me."

"Please..." the voice was quieter now. Luis leaned in. "They're trying to kill me."

"What?" Dessie said through a frown.

"Who?" Luis asked.

"I don't know.. I..." The man passed out. Luis stared.

"Dess, you think his neck and back are okay?"

"He was moving them weren't he? Why?"

"Help me move him. Get him inside."

"I don't think so."

"What?"

"If they're trying to kill him, you want him inside?"

"Good point, bro."

"Take him hospital or something, I'll get this car moved. Shit, might need to tow the fucker."

"Alright bro. Till I get back, you're in charge."

Despite being exactly what he wanted, Dessie didn't smile.

Luis was guiding his Tampa down the road, heading to the hospital when he heard a groan from the seat beside him.

"You awake, bro?"

"Where you taking me?" The man's voice was weak and coarse. Luis was troubled by the man's wounds. If he had to guess, he'd say this guy had eaten a shotgun round.

"Hospital, bro. You ain't looking so good."

"No, not hospital." The man seemed terrified. "J... J...John... Take me..." The man fell out of consciousness again. The hospital was ahead and Luis slowed. But he didn't turn. Something troubled him. The injured man was clearly in trouble and seemed sure that a hospital wouldn't be safe. Luis couldn't let this man perish. It surprised him that he gave a shit.

"I need to lay off Seventy Two," Luis said, referring to the TV show he'd gotten hooked on the last few days. CNT had a series-long marathon the previous night, and Luis stayed up till 4 AM watching it. Right now he felt like a tired Judd Parker, caught up in some conspiracy. Luis headed to the only place he could think of – his mothers.

He turned the corner and saw a man selling drugs. _Not much changes up here_ , he said to himself. Then he had a thought. He grabbed his phone.

"'Sup, A?"

"Hey, L. How's things?"

"Bad. Real bad. I need help. Where are you?"

"Home. Why?"

"Do you know a doctor?"

"Not many doctors up this part of town."

"I'm not talking a nine-to-five hospital doc."

"Backstreet?"

"Yeah."

"Shit, okay. Come pick me up, I'll take you to him."

"Get outside ready – I don't think this guy's got a lot of time."

"Shit, L, What you in to?"

"Just be ready."

To Luis's relief, Armando was ready, with Henrique unsurprisingly in tow. Luis followed Armando's Cavalcade after realizing that they won't all fit in his Tampa. Soon though, they were there, and the three carried the mysterious man in through a door that held no promises.

"So what's going on, L?" Henrique asked in the dingy waiting room. It reminded Luis of a cheap car dealership. The paint was cracked and faded, the furniture worn. A radio played quietly, some country and western music. The magazines appeared old – one that Luis picked up was at least five years old...

Luis dropped the magazine on the table – which wobbled in protest – and turned to his friend.

"I dunno, bro. Was with Dessie and someone crashed into the club. Went outside, found this guy. He seemed really opposed to a hospital. He said..." Luis looked around.

"You can talk here, L."

"He said that they were trying to kill him."

"Who?"

"I dunno, A, but he wanted to avoid the hospital. What if there are powerful people after him?"

"You been watching too much Seventy Two, Luis."

Luis chuckled and shrugged. "It's a good show."

"So who is he?" Henrique asked.

"I don't know."

A minute later the 'doctor' appeared.

"I think he's gonna be okay. Shotgun wound to his torso wasn't as bad as I thought The spread must have been large, and the shot wide; it's just a graze really. Small bullet wound to the leg and there's some bruising and a nasty cut on his head which may or may not be serious."

"So he'll survive?"

The doctor shrugged. "Probably. I've done all I can. I only usually get small gunshot and knife wounds, maybe the odd broken bone. What the hell happened to this guy? You find him in the middle east or something?"

Luis held his hands out and the doc nodded. "Either way he's down for the time being. It'll be a few days before he can walk properly." Then the doc laughed. "At least he'll be able to tell you when a storm's on the way."

"Is he safe here?" Luis asked.

The doc nodded. "This is Lords turf. What you think?"

"He's cool," Armando clarified. The doctor coughed, holding his hand out.

Luis nodded with an unsurprised smile. "How much, bro?" The doc spoke the amount and Luis winced.

"Just pay the man, rich boy," Armando said.

The target led Rami and Niko to what was apparently the meeting place.

"The beach?" Niko laughed. Then: "When in Rome, I guess."

Rami stared for a minute. "This is smart."

"Why?"

"At a cafe you can listen in easy. But on a beach? They'll be moving around, in open space. They'll spot a tail like that." Rami snapped his fingers. "Unless..."

"What?"

"You got internet on your phone?"

"No."

Rami looked around for a moment. Then he pointed. "Internet Cafe."

"What's so important about the internet."

"Do an Eyefind search and see where the nearest electronics store is."

"Why?"

"To buy a directional microphone."

"To listen in... I like it."

"Only problem." Rami pointed at the target car as it circled round the car park. "Gotta be quick."

Niko nodded and jumped out of the car, sprinting across the street to the internet cafe. Rami parked the car and kept the target in his sights.

Niko did his best to not appear in a rush. He paid the fee and sat at the nearest computer. A minute later he was typing frantically.

Rami had parked the car and walked casually toward the beach. The target had already reached the sand, and had sat on the wall that ran along the beach's parameter.

Rami began to walk down the path beside the wall and stopped part way down, placing one foot on the wall. He had his phone out and began imitating a phone call. He watched the target with his trained peripheral vision.

Niko had located a store but it wasn't that close. He left the internet cafe and spotted a motorcycle parked just down the road. He smiled and ran to it.  
With a squeal of rubber, the bike wobbled and surged forward. A minute later Niko had reached the electronics store – he actually missed it on the first pass and had to back track – and ran inside.

Rami had noted the appearance of another man, wearing a cream-colored linen suit with a pale, open-necked shirt. The man had received a nod from their target and now approached him.

"Come on, Niko," Rami whispered.

Niko returned the bike to where he found it and sprinted across the road. A slow moving car, looking for a parking space, jolted to a stop, the driver leaning out of the window, shouting something at Niko, but the Serbian had already reached the sidewalk.

It took a moment but Niko saw Rami. He had his hand on his cell phone, about to call the Israeli operator – to use Rami's word. Niko forced himself to slow down – only to a rushed walk – and approached Rami.

Rami tore open the packaging and was glad to see Niko had bought batteries. Ten seconds later, the microphone was powered up. Niko had thought enough to buy some headphones too, small, ear-bud type ones that would be hard to spot.

Rami took control of the mic, hiding it skillfully with his arm. He listened then nodded to Niko.

"This is our man. They're talking about exposing the operations... Liberty City... Some war... 'It's not safe to talk here'." Rami was, cleverly, sitting sideways on the wall, his arms folded, the mic hidden under one arm, pointing at the beach. Rami faced away from the target, and Niko sat too, facing Rami. They looked like two men talking. Rami kept watching the target out of the corner of his eye.

"Split up then?"

"I think it's best."

"Which one do you want?" Rami asked.

"I'll leave the new guy to you."

"Got you. Rendezvous?"

Niko glanced out at the sea, careful to not look at the target. "May as well say the airport?"

Rami nodded and stood up. He headed for his car.

Niko was sure he'd got the easier task. He had the bike from before, and he was armed. As soon as the target was on a relatively straight road, he'd take him.

The target didn't appear to be worried much about a tail. Rami guessed they assumed that meeting so far away from Liberty would hide them. _Not today._

Niko's target was crossing the bridge that he hoped they'd take. The causeway was straight for about two miles. Long enough to do what was needed. Niko resisted the temptation to open fire on the car. Thankfully though, things were going his way. Traffic was light, at least on his side of the road. There wasn't another vehicle within fifty feet of them and traffic on the other side was moving too quick to notice. Also, the target wasn't used to the heat down here. He had his windows open, most likely relishing the breeze on his face.

Niko gunned the engine on the bike, suddenly conscious of, and comforted by, the helmet he wore - for two reasons.

Rami's target's cab had pulled over and the man stepped out. Rami also pulled over and stepped out, aware of the dangers here. If the target hailed another cab – like _he_ would – he'd lose him.

The target was heading in to a shopping center and Rami was now feeling tense. He'd stay close and, if the target approached a cab, Rami would have to steal a car to follow, risking a chase.

Luckily though, the target handed Rami himself on a platter. He turned to the restrooms.

Niko pulled alongside the target's car and turned his head. The target also turned, looking at this biker. Niko saw no concern on the man's face. Then he drew his gun.

Instantly the man's face dropped and he shouted something. The car accelerated but so did Niko, anticipating it. _He should have braked._ Niko brought his gun up and fired a single shot, straight into the target's forehead. The man's head slumped back and Niko opened the throttle fully.

Rami followed the man in to the toilets, one eye keeping watch for security cameras. He saw none pointing anywhere near the restrooms. There was one other man in there, standing at a urinal. Rami followed the target to his urinal and stood at one behind him. He turned his head and saw he was clear. He turned, pulling out his suppressed pistol. He brought it up and took practiced aim at the target.

A gentle squeeze on the trigger was all it took. He was careful to not stand too close to avoid any blood splatter and he used a small, low-speed munition for this purpose. The target's head jerked forward, bouncing back as his body began to fall before landing, face first, in the urinal.

The restroom's other patron turned round, his hands coming up in surprise.

"Sorry," Rami shrugged before bringing the gun up and firing into the man's forehead.

Rami moved to the door and opened it a crack, glancing out. There was no one near so Rami turned back, already donning a pair of gloves, and dragged the bodies into a cubical. He sat one on the seat, and the other on top. He searched each man for their wallet, empting them of their cards and money, allowing the small change to drop to the floor. He dropped the wallets on the floor, too, then locked the door before sliding under it, thankful that the floor appeared to have been cleaned recently.

Niko had dumped the bike and taken public transport to the airport. One thing he liked about Liberty was the subway system. It made things much easier. Vice though? It had good weather, and a charm to it, but...

Niko sighed as he walked into the airport, courtesy of a bus. He sat at the agreed cafe – Niko had texted Rami to alert him to this – and ordered a coffee. He wanted to find a bar, but wasn't sure if they still allowed the sale of alcohol at airports. He would go to a bar back home.

Niko stared into the dark coffee. He had no concern for the targets they'd eliminated. His conscience – as battered as it had been over the years – was not troubled by them. He thought about what Rami had said to him, what Roman's words seemed to echo. _Over-thinking_. Sometimes it worked in his favor; covering all the bases, hedging his bets or whatever saying applied. But sometimes it got in the way; doubts and second-guesses. So far he was yet to dither while operating – Niko had begun to agree with Rami about the correct terminology for their work.

Rami sat down beside Niko.

"Took your time," Niko complained lightly.

"I had to return the vehicle. Then catch a few cabs here."

Niko nodded and downed the last, lukewarm mouthful of his coffee. Rami rapped Niko on the shoulder. "Now for the least fun bit."

Niko stifled a small grin and a slight chuckle.


	6. (Part One) The Mysterious Man

Luis helped the man out of the building, glad to be rid of the stale air of the so-called doctor's office. The place reminded him of a doc's office in a western movie. The guy seemed competent enough though, and had patched the man up well.

"So what the hell happened to you?" Luis asked.

The man was still quite weak, his voice tired and husky. "I'm not sure. These guys just started shooting at me."

"Do you know why?"

"I..." The man stared blankly for a minute as Luis reached his Tampa. "I don't know."

Luis shrugged as he opened his car door. He waved for the man to get in also.

"Do you have a name bro?"

"Yeah, Mike."

"At least you remember that."

"I guess. And you are?"

"Luis, bro." The two shook hands and Luis keyed the ignition. "Where's home?"

"I... Where are we?"

"Liberty City."

"Yeah... Home's not here. I was here... Why?"

"Visiting someone?"

Mike snapped his fingers. "Yes!" Luis managed a smile. "But who?"

"Well you'd know, Mike…"

"Yeah, you'd think so. But..."

"The doc did say you'd have some amnesia, but that'd clear up soon."

"I don't like that word. Too serious."

Luis shrugged. "So no idea who these people are?"

"No. I... You think it's best if I leave the city, Lewis?"

"It's Lu _is,_ bro. But that might be an idea."

"I... Don't know."

"There was an address in your wallet. Perhaps there?"

"You looked in my wallet?"

"Trying to make sure you weren't a terrorist or a cop or anything. Didn't want to get caught up in anything." He had no idea how wrong he was.

Mike reached in to his pocket and pulled out his wallet, along with his passport. "So you already knew what my name is?"

Luis shrugged. "Was just trying to be polite."

"Or to make sure I was who I said I was?"

"And who are you? What do you do – why are people trying to kill you?"

"I don't know. I don't know what I do or why they're trying to kill me. A mugging?"

"No. You told me they're trying to kill you, and you seemed to really hate the thought of a hospital."

"That sounds weird. Wouldn't a hospital be the best place for me?"

"For some reason, you didn't think so."

Mike looked at the address. "I suppose you'd best take me here then." He handed Luis the piece of paper.

"Alright," Luis said.

Rami hated debriefings. This new guy seemed to want every detail. The Israeli was surprised he wasn't asked the size of the target's genitals. At least his predecessor kept them short.

Finally, however, the man sat back in his chair. Content with the past mission, he changed subjects.

"With guns completely outlawed, and any methods of smuggling enforced, how do you think guns are still coming in to the city? Remember, the docks are watched. Security at the airport's tighter then a vestal pudenda."

"So how do they ship them in?"

"Through backdoors. Backdoors set up by the current mayor."

Niko blinked. "You're saying the current mayor's smuggling guns into the city, to circumnavigate his own blocks?"

"Profit..." Rami wondered out loud.

"Pretty much," their new boss said. "The movement of guns is not restricted in any way, shape or form. There is no moderation or quality control on them. Just the unbridled flooding of guns on to the streets via illicit cut-outs. I'm working with the party who wants to avoid this. By legalizing the sale of guns, they will starve the already-established network of gun smugglers and restrict the flow of weapons."

"Makes sense," Rami said with a nod.

"So what's our action?" Niko asked. Their boss nodded.

"We have to attack the criminal elements of this city. However we do not do this directly."

"How so then?" Rami asked.

"We play them off against each other. That is your job."

"To start gang wars?" Niko asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You've done it before haven't you, Bellic?" Niko nodded his concession. "Plus we have the benefit of the violence between these elements highlighting the current mayor's failure to restrict the movement of guns." Niko frowned. Something didn't add up. "It's a little of a dirty ploy, but one that's necessary. My predecessor was killed because he was working on locating the aforementioned gun smugglers. The mayor is already playing dirty to ensure he remains in office for his own gain." Now Niko understood. But, after thinking about it, did it matter? One side or the other – there were no 'good guys'.

"So first things first: we'll approach the more accessible gangs. The Spanish Lords and the North Holland Hustlers. Hardly best friends, but it's time to make things uncomfortable for them. Also, the Hustlers are connected to the Pavano family. This will make them weary, likely threatening the connection between them and the Hustlers. Also, other 'families' may be concerned. That leaves the door open for a move on the Mafia families."

Niko slowly nodded. "So for now we're attacking the Lords and Hustlers?"

"Indeed." Their new boss went on to outline his 'plan'. Niko and Rami left the building shortly after, with an idea on how to proceed. They both agreed to take some time to prepare. Niko suspected that Rami was ensuring any acquaintances of his were being warned. For Niko though, he had a couple of house-calls to make himself. 

_What a shithole_ , Luis thought, pulling his car onto the darkened dirt track. He guided his car to an area that appeared to be a car park, but was likely just unused turf. Both men got out of the car and looked around.

"What number?" Luis asked.

Mike looked at the slip of paper. "Thirteen."

Luis looked at the number nearest to them. "Four."

"We passed two on the way in," Mike offered.

Luis nodded and pointed. "That way then I guess."

Lyle Greenhorn and Marcus D'Amico sat in their car, watching the pair across the road. Lyle had just gotten off the phone, talking to some old friends. For just a little bit of money they'd agreed to help them out. Marcus wasn't sure if their boss would be happy with outside help. He mentally shrugged; He could always eliminate them later.

A minute later an old Cavalcade FXT pulled up behind them.

"He made no effort to hide did he?" Marcus said.

Lyle shrugged, opening the door. "You'd think so, with all that business with the Mafia." Lyle stepped out, shaking his head. "The fool."

Lyle walked to the 4X4 and spoke with the men there. Marcus stared at the photographs of both targets. It had been simple actually. After a rather angry talk from their boss, Marcus had gone on the net and, using the target's surname, found a likely contact that shared the same name. And it paid off.

Marcus stepped out of the car and opened the trunk. He reached in and pulled out an M4. Lyle leaned in and grabbed a street-sweeper shotgun.

"Ready?" Lyle growled at his 'friends'. They nodded and cocked their guns.

Luis wanted to get out of here quickly. They'd just passed a lot with garbage lying inches from the door. In the distance a dog barked, and a train rumbled past. The dog barked again, instigating a shout and a faint smacking sound. The dog whimpered and went quiet.

"Thirteen," Luis said, pointing at the sign ahead.

"Jeez..." Mike whispered.

"So why were you coming here?"

"I don't know. I..."

Luis reached into his jacket and pulled out his .44 pistol. He allowed Mike to see it then hid it again. Mike nodded and relaxed a little. Luis held his hand out, offering Mike to take the lead.

He was used to hearing the odd noise. People would argue all the time here and fights were not uncommon. They did, at least, tend to keep themselves to themselves.

But something had woken him – and that pissed him off. He sat up, was hit by the hangover, then fell back down. Then the bang sounded on his door, pounding on his head like a hammer.

He fumbled around for a weapon – a baseball bat – and rolled out of bed. He stumbled to the door and took a peek through the door. _What the-?_

The door swung open – outward – almost knocking Mike over. Luis grabbed his pistol in anticipation.

"Michael?!" the man growled, his voice sounding as bad as he looked.

Recognition flashed across Mike's face. A memory returned to him.

"John..." he said with a small smile. Luis cocked his head, attracting Mike's attention.

"My brother. Lewis, meet Johnny Klebitz."

"Got some memory back then?"

"Yeah... So it seems."

"Memory?" Johnny asked.

"Yeah... Can we come in?"

"Shit, yeah, sorry."

Luis hung his head briefly. "I'm gonna go lock my car. I'll be back in a minute." Luis hoped that didn't offend this Johnny. _Not bad-mouthing where you live or anything, but..._

The first thing Luis noticed was the men's dress sense. The men definitely not live here. Then he saw the guns. He didn't think they noticed him, but he ducked behind a trailer and watched as they approached.

He stood there for a minute, trying to figure out what to do. He moved backward slightly, getting his body further out of sight. As he did so his foot scuffed on the gravelly surface. He froze and looked up, an idea in his head. He peeked round at the men, all holding serious guns. Whoever they were they meant business.

Another give-away that they weren't locals was the fact that they seemed lost. They followed the route that Luis and Michael had taken – Johnny's trailer just visible from the road.

Luis waited until his line of sight was blocked by another trailer and picked up a small stone. He hurled it towards the trailer then, when it hit, turned and headed to his car.

Michael was telling Johnny how he'd escaped – he seemed to remember that – and had gotten to the part where he'd crashed into the night club. He couldn't remember much after that point, or before the ambush.

Johnny was about to say something about amnesia when something hit the side of the trailer.

"What the hell?" Johnny moved to the window and peeked out. "Holy shit."

"What?" Michael blinked.

"There's a lot of men with a lot of guns heading this way."

Michael joined Johnny at the window and swore. "They're the same two that attacked me."

"What the fuck are you involved with?" Johnny darted to his bed and dove under it, returning a minute later with an automatic pistol and an old, battered AK-47.

Michael blinked. "You expecting world war three or something?"

"Don't bullshit me Mike. After the shit that happened a couple of years ago, you think I'm gonna stay here unarmed?" He threw the pistol at his brother. "We can't stay in here. We'd be like fish in a barrel." Johnny looked out of the window again – rather out of the only patch clean enough _to_ look out. The men were close now, but their weapons mostly slung over their shoulders. One of them moved their weapon and adjusted it – locking and loading, as it were.

"Now!" Johnny called to his brother, turning to the door. He checked his gun then swung his door open. He surged out of the trailer and brought his gun up, firing immediately.

Greenhorn and D'Amico flinched and darted for cover. Lyle's men did the same, but slower. They also split.  
Johnny moved left, firing at the men and hitting none. Michael followed and moved to the first cover he saw.

Luis heard the gun fire and turned to see the flashes. He caught a glimpse of Johnny through a gap in the trailers but that was it. His line of sight was blocked. He opened his car door and grabbed his gun. Then he turned back. He paused. Was this really his fight? He'd helped the man find his brother...

Luis shook his head and jumped in his car. "You're on your own, bro," he said. He gunned his engine.

Johnny popped up from behind his cover and fired, now aiming at the men, as opposed to just spraying... what was it called, suppressive fire?

One of the men jerked backward, the bullet striking his shoulder. Michael also fired but in a slightly more reluctant way. His bursts came less often then Johnny's and seemed to serve more to keep the attackers back then actually attack them.

 _I thought you were a soldier_ , Johnny thought.

Johnny changed targets, missing and hitting the trailer next to them. One of the bullets hit something metallic and the second one spawned an explosion. Greenhorn's men dove from the explosion that took out one of them. Greenhorn himself, along with D'Amico ran for different cover, shouting orders for the men.

"Move!" Johnny shouted.

"Where to?"

Johnny pointed at the small shed made of corrugated aluminum. Billy-Ray would hate him but... _fuck it_ , Johnny thought. He was probably done here now anyway.

Michael ran to the shed, as bullets chipped away at the ground by his feet. Johnny rose and fired at the man shooting at his brother.

"Fuck off!" he shouted. The man who was firing at the shed fell, his gun spewing ammunition into the air before ceasing.  
Johnny took cover again while the other men fired. He waited a moment then rose, and fired again.

Nothing happened. The gun clicked but no bullets came out.

It had jammed.

Michael had leaned out of the shed and now fired toward the attackers.

 _That's more like it!_ Johnny said to himself.

"Come on!" he shouted. Johnny sprinted toward the shed, dropping his AK-47. He dove in, landing in a sloppy roll just as more gunfire sounded.

Johnny got up and noticed a few cases of Moonshine in the corner of the shed.

"Get on the bike," Johnny said, moving to the moonshine. He grabbed a jug of it and hopped on the bike. "Jesus, it's been a while." He closed up the kickstand and the bike almost fell over.

"You're telling me." Michael said.

Johnny started the engine and tore off a corner of his shirt. He set the scrap alight and stuffed it in the jug. "Hold on," he said as he accelerated hard out of the shed. He swung his arm out and threw the bottle of moonshine toward the attackers.

D'Amico saw the jug coming and knew it for what it was. He sprinted to his side and dove behind a trailer. Lyle was far enough away that the heat from the ensuing splash of flame merely knocked him back.

The men recovered and ran over to the shed.

"They've gone," Greenhorn snarled.

"I can see that," D'Amico snapped back. "What about the nigger?"

Greenhorn shrugged. "He ain't here."

"Probably just a driver," D'Amico dismissed.

"Still maybe we should track him down."

"How? He's just a black guy. We didn't get a good enough look. We can't just take out every hoodie-wearing black guy hoping he's one of them."

"Why not?" Greenhorn enquired darkly.

D'Amico dismissed him with a wave. "Neither of them are here anyway. We'd best vacate the area before the cops turn up."


	7. (Part One) Lords and Hustlers

Their plan of action was clear. The North Holland Hustlers had a shipment coming in, courtesy of the Pavano Mafia family. Niko and Rami's job was simple: ambush it.

Niko was wearing a yellow hooded top with blue jeans. Rami wore a yellow pullover under a white basketball vest, with beige khakis. Their boss had provided them with the appropriate vehicle. Rather than stealing a Lord's vehicle, they'd gotten a Cavalcade, sprayed it red and fitting gold rims and trim. The windows were tinted – enough to make identifying the driver/passengers difficult and both men wore yellow rags over their mouths. It would be hard to tell that neither man was Puerto Rican.

Niko was driving, having been designated the more skilful driver. Both men were armed, Rami with a MP10 and Niko with a micro-Uzi.

"Any minute now," Rami said, checking his watch.

Both men sat and waited, the Cavalcade hiding in an alley entrance.

"Here we go," Rami said, nodding toward an approaching Serrano, followed by a modified Landstalker that belonged to the Hustlers. Niko started the engine and, as the Serrano passed, pulled out of the alleyway.  
Rami wound the window down.

Rami's aim was, as Niko had expected/hoped, impeccable, and the first shot perforated the Serrano's driver-side window. The driver was hit and slumped over the steering wheel. The Serrano veered right, mounting the sidewalk and bouncing back off of a wall, leaving behind chips of paint and brick.

Ahead a small crowd of people, alarmed by the shooting, screamed and ran. Most fled in through shop doorways, or round the corner, but one froze like a cat in a headlamp. There was a distinct thud – instantly recognizable to anyone who'd hit a pedestrian before, and disturbing to anyone who hadn't. The woman's body flipped upwards, her legs smashing into the Serrano's windshield as she tumbled over the top of the vehicle, landing in a heap behind, most likely dead.

Rami fired again, hitting the passenger in the back of the Serrano. Niko had slowed to match the now coasting Serrano as Rami turned his attention on the Landstalker. He fired a good drill into the front grill, immediately seeing steam rise from under the hood, then attacked the wheels. By the time he had to reload he'd punctured all three visible tires and was confident he'd hit the radiator. He allowed a few shots to ride up the hood and windshield for good measure, aware that they wanted some survivors.

The Israeli tossed his gun on to the back seat after it had clicked empty. He reached down and pulled out his 'secret weapon'.

"Get ready," Rami said, holding the high-explosive grenade. He tossed it out and saw it fly in through Serrano's shattered window.

"GO!" Rami called. Niko stamped on the pedal, causing the Cavalcade's wheels to spin and the back to fishtail. He held it though and within seconds they were speeding away.

The passengers in the Landstalker – crippled a good fifty feet behind the Serrano, which had stopped after crashing into a row of pay phones – alighted.

"Get the product!" one shouted as he looked at the burst tires. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell – to call backup.

Two men were approaching the Serrano when the grenade's fuse expired. The grenade exploded, sending flames through the windows and the trunk – the trunk door flying off and actually hitting one of the Hustlers. The explosion was so ferocious that the Serrano leaped into the air, as if lifted by fire. It crashed back down, engulfed in flames as a thick black smoke bellowed from the rear.

Only two of the Hustlers had survived the whole thing – one would be scarred for life down one side of his body and the other was still on his phone,

"Motherfucking Lords!" he shouted before running over to the only other survivor, who was screaming in agony from his horrific burns.

Neither Niko nor Rami heard the North Holland Hustler's cry, but the explosion had said it all. The escort was crippled, thus preventing any tails, so all they had to do was disappear.

But first they had to get to Bohan – the agreed-upon ending point. If anyone saw the SUV, they'd see it heading back into Lords turf.

They also wouldn't dump the vehicle. That was, they had decided, a bad thing to do. A dumped vehicle usually means that whoever had used it did not want anything connecting them with it. In this instance that would be suspicious; the vehicle was obviously belonging to the Spanish Lords – dumping it would imply a set up. No, they'd arranged to have the vehicle resprayed in a garage in Bohan. Once done, the rims would be taken and disposed off – whether sold, dumped or trashed, neither Rami nor Niko knew, or cared. The trim would be removed too, likely replaced by matte-black plastic. With this process done, the Cavalcade would be taken away to be crushed. Niko and Rami – once dropping the car off at the garage – would simply have to disappear, something both men knew how to do.

Neither man was surprised by the almost anticlimactic nature of the operation. Combat rarely lasted long in truth. Many operations – or military battles – were often over in mere minutes.

Rami had chosen the train – he rode the B/C train to Frankfort Avenue station, where he'd catch a cab to Star Junction. From there he'd walk south, enter Easton station and head to the airport – with another dry-cleaning transfer at Huntingdon Street. Once his dry-cleaning was done and he was satisfied, he'd collect his car at the airport multi-storey car park and drive home. There'd also be a change of outfits in Easton's toilets, using the crowds to blend before and after.

Niko simply caught a cab to Hove Beach, where he got the train to Chinatown. He walked through the bustling market atmosphere until he reached City Hall, using the time to reflect on their past mission. It wasn't bothering him anymore whether the reasons behind their work were noble or not. Liberty City played host to few noble people. Even the non-combatants, as Rami would say, would step over your injured body to go about their daily tasks. This was a city where very few cared about others. Rami was right. A conscience had no place in this line of work, and he'd certainly done his share of dishonorable things hadn't he?

Gracie Ancelotti sprung to mind. There was no honor in that mess, but Niko didn't care. She was just a spoiled rich girl, a product of capitalism, in a country where money is everything.

But what about Packie's brother? Niko had no reason to do what he did there and that didn't bother him did it? Just business, Rami would say.

Niko found himself within reach of City Hall's subway station. He descended and traveled to West Park, where he continued his musings with a stroll around the lake. He saw a couple walking hand in hand. The female reminded him of Mallorie, which made him think of his cousin. The transformation had astounded him. That was down to the child, Niko realized, but Roman _had_ changed. It was a change that Niko welcomed – his cousin had grown up – but it reflected the opposite in Niko. Where Roman had come to America and indulged in all the vices available here, living like a child in a candy store, Niko's inner child had been brutally slaughtered. That was something he'd envied in Roman – how he'd just have fun. Despite the loan sharks, the Albanians he had problems with, the Russian puppet masters that ultimately had revealed themselves as deadly nemesises, Roman had still lived his life to play. Sex, gambling, nightlife. That was Roman's life. Was. But at the same time, Niko's was smuggling and killing. They could not be more contrasting.

And now?

Now Roman was a father – something that still sounded strange to both men – and had a family. His cab business had expanded, his business mind evolved. Roman had, actually, featured in a magazine six months ago – or was it a newspaper? – in an article about local businesses. The article praised 'hard working foreigners' who had 'aided local industry growth'. Basically, by coming to this country, avoiding crime (or at least avoiding being caught), and working hard, Roman had created jobs for Liberty City residents, and a service that evidently seemed to be in demand. He would never compete with the yellow cabs – all run by the same company probably – but, where they offered convenience and quickness, Roman catered to a more refined crowd. Bookings, mainly. His company, in the last year, had driven thousands of teenage girls and boys to prom parties, ferried men and women to and from weddings and even provided transport for funerals. You couldn't turn up to a wedding in a yellow cab, though people did, or use one as a funeral limousine.

Still, Niko was happy for his cousin. Plus he'd always have a job with him. Niko didn't want to spend the rest of his life driving cabs, but he knew that if he was ever short of money…

This was an amazing city, Niko thought. Both fantastic and harrowing. He'd heard about Los Santos – where you could stand in the 'ghetto' and literally cross the road to a more prosperous district. He had no idea how true it was but he could believe it. These cities were so cramped; people literally lived on top of each other. Even here he'd walked through a prosperous district – was that the right word? Rich district? – and glanced down an alley to see the homeless. Poor people sandwiched between the rich.

None of this surprised him, though. People here lived their lives without a thought for these homeless. Niko usually gave something to the jazz players he saw in the subway – he actually liked them – even though they were not poor. He could afford to give the odd dollar to the bums too and it was usually easier to toss them a bone then deal with them asking for money. In one case he'd given a guy some money and then got in a fight. To his amazement, the bum had run over and helped him out!

He wondered where his life would have left had the war not landed in his back yard. Ironically, probably nowhere. Roman would probably not had fled to America, he would not have met Mallorie and would not have had little Katie. Niko himself would not have lost part of himself that day, would not have vowed revenge and would not have spent ten years working his way across Europe. He would not have been involved in the smuggling, he would not have arrived in Liberty City looking for Florian. He would not have had the life he had now – and if there's anything he can call his life, boring would not be it.

He'd walked a long line – longer than most. He had eyes that had, as the saying went, seen too much. He'd seen too many people die, some by his hand, some not. Memories of his childhood were just that – memories. Distant memories at that, too.  
He looked down at the back of his hands, seeing how he had aged. He chuckled to himself. In films or soap operas this would be where a slow piano riff would be played, in a minor scale, perhaps with a cello or violin in the background.

"Your life is so tragic," he said, self-mockingly. _Get over it_.

The truth was that his life was actually pretty good. He had money, and a job that he actually liked – once he got past the moral queries. This was work he was good at, plus there was an element of adrenaline addiction. Definitely the danger. Only the best would survive. The ultimate game, he'd heard it called. Win, you live, victorious, and glorious. Lose, you die. The greatest gamble.

The strangest thing was that Niko didn't resent his past. He'd suffered and at great cost of his soul, as Ilyena Faustin once put it and he'd gotten his revenge. But he didn't regret it. He had worried that life out here would corrupt him, that he'd end up a money hungry drone like everyone else. But… who cared?

Niko allowed himself an amused shake of the head before finally heading back, via a couple of alleys in a final sweep for tails, to his apartment.

At roughly the same time Luis was sitting in his office, supposedly working, but thinking of the mystery man. He was probably dead now. Should he have gone back and helped him?

It was one thing simply helping a man out but when you're being shot at things change.

Luis tossed his pen down and shook his head, perplexed. What does it matter? He stood up and walked out to the club floor, checking his watch. Almost opening time. By the time the girls started flooding in, he'd forget all about it.

Niko woke the next morning and began his usual routine. Shower and coffee. He sometimes put the news on, sometimes electing to buy a paper. Today it was a paper – he fancied a decent breakfast today and bought a paper to go with that.  
It was a short walk to the café he liked. Nothing fancy, just quick – and surprisingly good – food. He had what the owner – a Brit, though the man's accent was weak – called an English breakfast. Egg with bacon and sausage and mushrooms, hash browns and fried toast. It usually came with baked beans but Niko never fancied beans for breakfast.

The café owner himself – with an unnatural passion for serving food, Niko thought – placed the meal on the table.

"Americans always mock our food, but they don't realize we have some of the best food in the world."

"Yeah, you've said before," Niko said. The two weren't friends, but the man knew Niko's face. Rami would probably call that bad tradecraft, but Niko was no robot. He actually liked the food here and the staff was friendly enough. A family business – and most family businesses were friendly.

"Come down for dinner sometime then," the British man said. "My wife makes a fantastic Toad in the Hole, and her Beef Wellington is second to none."

"Fair enough," Niko said, reaching for his orange juice. Opposite him sat Jacob Hughes – a man he'd befriended almost instantly after meeting. Niko internally remarked on the fact that it was Jacob who handed him his first gun in this city. Was there irony there? He wasn't sure. Fittingly enough he'd also been there when it counted too, while avenging Kate's murder.

"So what's wrong, Niko?" Jacob had gone for a more simple breakfast – one of the café's popular bacon buns.

"Where do you get your guns from?"

"Trade secret, breda. Something wrong with them?"

"No," Niko said from behind his fork. "Just…" He leaned in and lowered his voice. "Had to warn you."

"Warn me? About what?"

"Your gun running. Those who smuggle them into the city… they're on limited time."

"Limited time, Niko?"

"The people I work for…. Things are going to change. They're going to legalize the controlled sale of guns. Most people would buy them in a shop, get bonus card points for them and a receipt. But I think my boss… Whoever is still selling guns like you do… I think he's going to have them all killed. Some kind of city-wide purge."

"Bumbaclot," Jacob breathed. "That will make things dangerous."

"You're still going to do it?"

"It's all done through the dreads, Niko. No one knows about it…"

"Look, they're clamping down on it. Keep yourself covered."

"I'll bear that in mind, Niko. What is going on?"

"Political corruption." Niko sighed. "One party's playing dirty, the other's playing equally as dirty."

"And who's in the right?"

Niko smiled darkly. "Is anyone ever in the right?"

"I hope you've chosen your side carefully, Niko."

Niko nodded, not knowing how to answer it.

Luis didn't like mornings. Sure, he could get up when he had to, and sometimes had a run, but he was a night owl. Running a nightclub pretty much dictated that, but it suited Luis fine.

Today was a day he'd planned to sleep in but his phone had other ideas.

"Yeah?" he growled groggily.

"Luis Lopez?" The synthesized voice woke him up immediately.

"Who the hell's this?"

"No one you know."

"Then why–?" Luis sighed and sat up. "What you want?"

"Met anyone interesting lately?"

Luis frowned. "What the-?"

"You probably don't realize it yet but you're in the middle of something… big."

"How big?" Luis asked automatically. He shook his head then stood, walking to get a drink of water.

"That remains to be seen. Why did you help him?"

"Help who?"

"Michael Klebitz."

 _What the fuck?! How did this guy know about that?!_. "Uh… I…"

"Don't worry, I'm not the bad guy."

"So what's this Michael got to do it?"

"It was a hit. He escaped, and evidently crashed into your club."

Luis frowned. "How do you know that?"

"CCTV, Lopez."

"But I cleared the tapes."

"Yes, but not the apartment building opposite."

"So is this blackmail?"

"No. Think of it more as… recruitment."

Luis took a moment. "Am I going to get paid?"

"No, unless you want to mug someone." Luis missed the joke.

"So what then?"

"I want you to find out some things for me."

"And how can I trust you?"

"I suppose you can't."

"But you have me, don't you? What, if I say no you're gonna call the cops? Set me up for attacking that guy?"

"You went out of your way to help him. I stumbled across you helping him by luck. I have, though, found out that you drove out past Alderney to take the man to his brother. I figured you went through that much effort, you must care. Don't worry I won't tell anyone. Your strong-silent-type persona is safe."

"What do you want me to do?" Luis said after a minute.

"Find out who tried to kill your new friend."

"Yeah, just one problem with that."

"What?"

"He's dead," A shrug. "I think."

"Dead?" Luis couldn't tell if the voice was troubled, but it seemed it. "How?"

"Some guys tore up the trailer park."

"And you just walked away?"

"Yeah, bite me."

There was a moment's silence. "Well the good news is his body wasn't recovered. Police reports state that two men escaped on a bike."

"So he's alive?"

"Yeah. I'm guessing you don't know where he is."

"No."

"That's not ideal," the voice said.

"Well, what you want me to do?"

"Meet me."

"When?"

"You'll see."

The call ended and Luis stood there, staring at his phone in confusion.

"What the hell was that about?"

A drug dealer was their next target. He'd been dealing on Lords' turf in Bohan. Niko's first job had been to steal a Patriot, and deliver it to the workshop, where it'd be 'blinged' up slightly.

Rami met Niko there, with a bag of clothes. Niko put on an oversized puffer-jacket with a fluffy hood, and a pair of baggy jeans with brilliant white sneakers. Rami had bought for himself a massive white T-shirt and a black zip up hoody, with beige cargo pants. His shoes were, to his own amusement, bright red. He also had a baseball cap.

Once dressed, and with their make-up on (they'd used face-paint to make the exposed skin on their faces and hands look chocolate), they examined the vehicle. Rami wondered what would happen to the vehicle afterward, whether it'd all be scrapped or torn apart and each part sold for profit. He shrugged. Who cares?

Niko would drive to the location they'd already scoped out. They'd park the car then walk the half-block to the target's patch. Both Rami and Niko had a small-caliber pistol each – the less noise the better, but they couldn't use silencers as the Hustlers didn't really bother with such things, and police forensics may reveal the use of them. They really didn't need much more. Both were expert shots with a pistol, in fact Rami insisted that he was more dangerous with a pistol then most American _Gangstas_ were with machine guns. Rami's style was, much like Niko's, clean. They were both deadly with the three-tap drill; a shot to the chest and let the shots rid up to the head. But both men had the habit of going for the head. So far it had yet to fail.

"Do gang-bangers go for the head?" Niko thought out loud as he pulled the Patriot out of the garage and into the Algonquin night. The garage was located on Algonquin's western riverfront, underneath the access road to the Hickey Bridge. The drive to Bohan would take the men through N.H.H. territory. The perfect approach, they'd agreed. Over the Northwood Heights Bridge.

"That's a good question. In my experience Americans shoot first and aim later."

"If they aim at all."

Rami actually laughed at that. It was well known that the Russians – specifically Chechens, Spetsnaz and KGB agents – pioneered the technique of shooting for the head. One well aimed bullet to the forehead was more dangerous than fifty un-aimed, 'sprayed' rounds.

"Spray 'n' Pray they call it," Rami said. "Shoot and hope one hits your target."

Niko needed no lessons in shooting. The 'Russian' method of shooting had spread and even westerners used it. Law enforcement officers though were usually trained to shoot for center-of-mass. That made the criminal's day. Years ago the amount of robberies that were successful was staggering, especially when the eastern Europeans gangsters settling in Liberty City. American cops shooting at body-armor-wearing Russian bank robbers' chests, while they returned fire to the head. Times had changed of course, and that Russian/American border on shooting style had pretty much fallen with the Berlin wall. Niko wondered how accurate that thought as. _Not very_ , he mused. He wasn't aware of the generalizations either.

"We don't want to make a mess," Rami said after a moment's thought. "The longer we're there for, the more likely we'll have a full-blown shootout. That we want to avoid."

Niko agreed. "What about a distraction?"

Rami stared at the Serb for a moment then smiled. "You walk up as if to buy drugs, while I come from behind, kick his knees out, and put a bullet in the back of his head?"

"Gangland-style they call that, don't they?"

"I think so." Rami nodded. "Gangland execution?"

"Good idea. What if he turns round and sees you?"

"Then _you_ shoot him. Or club him over the head as he turns."

"What if instead of shooting, you used a knife?"

Rami shook his head. "Not that common. A knife kill like that – slit his jugular you mean? – implies something personal. It's the kind of thing you'd do a gang's lieutenants, not to a bottom-feeder drug dealer. Street walkers."

Niko nodded. "Good point there."

"Plus, Niko, the Americans have an acronym saying: KISS."

"Keep It Simple, Stupid," Niko confirmed.

"Americans love their acronyms. But that saying is a good one. Why muddy the waters with unnecessary compilations?"

"More to go wrong."

"Exactly!"

"Won't the dealer have backup?"

"Yes, probably. We'll identify his men before moving in."

"So I'm on crowd control?"

"To some extent. When I eliminate the target, you turn and put down your man. I'll then take down the other, and if there's a third, he's yours."

"Two each," Niko nodded. He knew how this was played. They'd I.D. the targets on arrival and mutually assign themselves to them. Rami would have the easier job. Once the target's neutralized, Rami could use the dealer's body as a shield. Contrary to movies, he wouldn't be able to face a barrage of bullets from machineguns, but he'd withstand a little small-arms fire long enough to fire back. He might even cause the gunmen to hesitate.

They passed the target's turf at a decent speed. This was the trickiest bit. Both men were trained shooters, and could shoot apples off of heads all day long. But even driving training didn't warn them of this risk. If they drove too fast, they'd fly past the target, allowing only a glance to survey the area. Too slow and they'd immediately be identified as a drive-by. Just under the speed limit, Niko told himself. It helped that the target was near an intersection; they had a reason to slow down.

"One primary, two seconadaries," Rami reported. Niko did not look. Although the vehicle had darkened windows, Niko trusted Rami to observe. A passenger looking out his window is normal. The driver taking his eyes off the road, to look at a pedestrian…. Most people didn't do that.

They parked the vehicle around the corner from the target. Rami rushed off down the road, heading round the block to creep down the alley. Once the Israeli disappeared, Niko strolled round the corner.

The dealer's men noticed Niko immediately. Niko offered the man a sharp nod and reached into his pocket, pulling out a wallet. He timed it perfectly, passing under a street lamp as he pulled out the paper money. He saw the men relax – but not completely.  
Niko reached the target, who had turned to squarely face this 'customer'. This was the bit Niko didn't look forward to.

"Yo, wassup homie?" Niko rapped, in his best African-American accent – he'd practiced. This was also the signal for Rami to move. "What yo' sellin'?" Niko dropped his wallet, the money spilling onto the floor.

 _Good work, Niko_ , Rami thought. He'd sneaked down the alley as Niko approached – the Serb distracting all of the men. No one watched the alley. Rami loved amateurs, unless he was working _with_ them.

Rami moved forward, his gun in hand.

Niko was almost as surprised as the Lords. He was expecting to see Rami, but he didn't. All he saw was the drug dealer fall to his knees, with a shocked and painful gasp.

In his kneeling position, Niko drew his pistol. One of the men had automatically – and foolishly – bent down to help the 'customer'.

It was a fatal mistake. As soon as the drug dealer collapsed, Rami's foot stamping on the back of his knee, Niko moved forward, grabbing the crouching man and firing into his stomach, a split-second after Rami's shot echoed through the alley. Niko stayed on his knee as Rami fired his second shot. Both men looked round to check for more threats.

None.

"Perfect," Rami said with a smile.

Niko nodded then followed Rami as he ran to the Patriot.

 _One down…_

The next target would prove to be trickier. This dealer – with _three_ backup men – was evidently more experienced. Rami approached, and one of the men called out for him to halt.

"Put your hands up, man." Rami obeyed. "What you want?"

"Nothin' but a good time," Rami said, in an almost flawless accent. "What you got?"

"Got a blade, man," the dealer said, almost dropping the 'n'. "Wanna dance?"

"You got me all wrong, playa. I'm just shoppin."

"Yeah?" another man said, in a deeper, more gravelly voice. "Well we ain' sellin' so fuck off."

 _Fantastic customer service_ , Rami thought.

"Alright," Rami said, seeing Niko behind the dealer.

"Wait a sec," the final backup man said. "What the fuck wrong wi' yo' face?"

 _Oh shit_ , Rami said to himself. One of the backup men moved forward, pulling out a knife. He held it to Rami's throat.

Immediately Rami reacted. His left hand darted up and round, grabbing and pushing the knife away to his right. Then his right fist landed three punches to the man's face, followed by a kick. With the man stunned, Rami thrusted the man's own knife into his stomach, four times, then floored him with a leg sweep.

A man from behind Rami kicked out, knocking Rami to the floor. The dealer, now with a gun drawn, approached.

"You're going to regret that."

"Let's waste this fool," the man said from behind Rami.

"Night night, bitch" the dealer said, putting the gun to Rami's head.

Niko watched as Rami went to his knees. He had to move now, but anything would likely make the dealer shoot. Rami didn't look scared though. He looked _bored_. That's when Niko realized that it was the dealer in danger, not the Israeli veteran. Niko changed tactics, and set his sights on the man nearest his position. He drew his gun.

Rami noticed movement behind the dealer. No one else did, though; all eyes were on him. Rami looked up at the dealer as the gun came within range.

With speed that surprised the backup men and Niko, Rami's arm came up, grabbing the gun's barrel in a fist, moving it to the side of his head. The Israeli's head also cocked to the side slightly, successfully getting out of the line of fire. The Dealer flinched and pulled his hand back, but not before Rami's second hand clasped on the back of the gun. Rami used the dealer's backwards momentum to pull himself up, and, with the gun now directed beside his hip, Rami's leg came out to kick the man square in the groin, twice, the dealer's motion helping build the kicks' power. Rami then lurched backward as the men pulled out their guns, the dealer's gun now under his full control. Within a second Rami had turned and fired a single shot at the man that had stood behind him.

Niko fired at the remaining man, as Rami took down his. That left the dealer, who was on all fours, coughing from the pain in his gonads.

Rami stared at the dealer and, without a blink, or a word, put the gun to his head. He fired, and the dealer went limp.

Niko looked at Rami.

"Remind me not to get into a fight with you," Niko said.

Rami chuckled before turning to head back to the car.

Niko blinked. The ex Israeli Special Forces soldier wasn't even out of breath.

In the car, Rami reloaded their guns, as Niko drove. They had one more target – a drugs lab. This was the crux of their plan.  
There would be many men inside – the lab was no more than an apartment – and they two men would likely have to fight their way to – and from – it. Rami reached under his seat and came up with an Uzi. They'd already decided that Rami would not have the weapon that came from his own country, but Niko would. Rami wanted to duel wield the pistols. Niko knew how deadly this man was with one pistol, but two?!

It was plain sailing until they reached the third floor of the apartment block. It was this floor that had the gang on it.  
There would be no subterfuge this time though. Rami led, both pistols up, taking down two men simultaneously – one shot from each gun. Niko was impressed – he only heard one shot. Rami had fired both guns – once – in perfect synchronicity. Both shots hit their targets between the eyes.

Niko darted forward as the men fell. He hit the floor as he reached the door-less portal to the hallway. It reminded him of a job he did for Jacob – was that against the same men?

On one knee, Niko fired down the passageway, taking out two men with two short bursts. Rami stood behind Niko and fired two shots, both hitting their target – this time just one man. Then the men moved forward.

Two men darted out of an apartment, and Rami once again impressed Niko. Niko didn't see the first man until the latino gang-runner hit the floor, Rami's cat-like reflex flooring him with a shot through… _the ear!_ Niko fired at the second man while remarking on that shot. This wasn't challenging, pitting yourself up against multiple armed men, but working with someone as good as Rami, it was _easy_. Both men knew each other's style, and worked with phenomenal teamwork.

They reached the apartment and Niko kicked in the door. Rami got low and darted in, turning left. Niko followed, going right, and high.

Both men fired and, within three seconds, all five men in the room were dead – the last one taking bullets from Niko's Uzi to the chest, and one of Rami's pistols to the head.

Rami went left farther – into a kitchen – and Niko went right, into a bedroom. Niko fired at a man who had evidently been receiving fellatio; the woman was cowering at the foot of the bed and the man was reaching for his gun, his wilting erection almost making Niko laugh. Niko fired anyway, hearing a single shot from Rami.

"What's going on here?" Rami asked, appearing behind Niko, doing well to keep his African American accent up.  
Niko shrugged.

Rami pointed at the bed. "Was he about to shoot?!"


	8. (Part One) Parlay Crashers

"Phase one's successful," Niko's nameless boss began as they sat in his office, with Marcus and Lyle already there. "The North Holland Hustlers and Spanish Lords are certainly at odds. However, they're holding a parley, with both sides claiming innocence. What we need is for that parley to go south."

"No rest for the wicked," Rami noted. Their boss ignored the remark.

"Make your way up to North Holland, to the basketball courts on Wardite Street. Set yourself up with some decent vantage points, and wait for the meet to start.

"Lyle and Marcus, you're on the Lords. Niko, Rami, you've got the Hustlers. Make sure you stick to your targets. Who wants the drive by?"

Greenhorn's hand rose. "Please sir, me sir."

Their boss frowned at the joke that made Marcus smile. Niko and Rami either didn't see the humor or were above it.

"That leaves you two with rooftops then. Find a good spot – take out who you need to – and set up."

"Weapons?" Rami and Marcus said at once. Marcus had a destructive glint in his eye.

"Mainly street – all weapons have been obtained from street dealers and former owners. We've got one RPG launcher – Niko, Rami, that's yours – two AK-47s, a sawn-off and double barreled shotgun, a few Uzis, one Mac, three 9 millimeter pistol and a desert eagle. There's a handful of homemade pipebombs too – good for cars."

"The RPG," Niko said, already deciding that was his – Rami preferred smaller weapons. "How many shots?"

"Only two. Use them wisely."

"Cars," Niko said.

Rami nodded and added: "Convoy?" Niko nodded.

"So I'm thinking," Rami said, "That Niko hits the convoy with the RPG. Then he immediately takes cover, and moves to another position. On hearing and seeing the convoy go down, you two," Rami gestured at Greenhorn and D'Amico, "move in, and take down the other group of cars.

"I'll begin firing at the hustlers, once you've made your move on the Lords. Once you've hit the vehicles, get the hell out of dodge, as they say.

"Niko once you've hit the convoy, get off that rooftop, or you'll be pinned, and we can't hang around too long. Move to the next one, and get another RPG off."

"My rooftop – is that on the Lords' side or the hustler's?"

"Lords side – make it look like the Lords are attacking. You two, you should come from the Hustler's end."

Nods were exchanged and the men stood minutes later. The plan was simple, and everyone was clear on their roles.

Niko selected his location, knowing the area pretty well. He stood on the rooftop – wearing street clothes in subtler tones of the gang colors. He rested the RPG by the ledge and checked it over. Then he checked his secondary weapon.

Rami had done the same – he'd cleaned his weapons and checked them thoroughly. He stood on the rooftop, seeing Niko for a second on the roof to his left. Lyle and Marcus were in their car – a Presidente – waiting round the corner. They'd have the lead on this. Everyone would move on their action.

Niko saw the car approach, and the windows wind down. The big man had gotten a couple of his men to help him. Niko knew Rami would be fuming at that, and their boss wouldn't be too happy. But for now though, they did their job, the Presidente slowing to a crawl and gunfire erupting from within.

Niko rose to a kneeling position and aimed the RPG. He had two shots and he planned on using them both. The first shot flew unsteadily toward the parked cars at the far side of the court. The RPG actually dropped too much and ricocheted under the car, exploding a millisecond later when it hit the underside of the vehicle.

The Hustlers vehicles exploded with a spectacular flash of light. Nearby Hustler members were thrown through the air like toy soldiers. Niko ducked behind the ledge as Hustlers' gunfire was directed in his direction. His ears were ringing, despite the ear-protectors he wore, but he shook it off and moved to a different position. He came back up a second later and fired his second and final RPG. This one was sent into the uncouth phalanx of Hustlers men. He saw the men fall down like bowling pins, or perhaps a splash of bodies.

The gunfire reached him quicker now, with the Hustlers already firing in that direction. He ducked just in time, feeling the warm tear of air as a bullet missed his head by mere centimeters.

Rami had the simplest job of just shooting from his perch. He focused his aim on anyone who was shooting toward his partner, receiving some fire for his troubles. But he'd exploited the age of the building on which he stood. Previous instances of violence had caused damage to the building's front and this manifested itself on the roof by the odd crack in the ledge or, in one case, a sizable chunk missing. Rami found that his gun fitted in the small gap easily, and kept himself almost totally hidden. Much like the top of a castle wall, he said to himself with a smile.

The Presidente was taking fire, so D'Amico – who'd drawn the short straw – floored it. He spun the wheel and directed the vehicle down a street away from the so-called peace-meeting, with gunfire still trying to reach them.

"The budgie's out of the cage!" Rami said into his headset, alerting Niko that D'Amico and Greenhorn were done.

"The bird's free," Niko replied in acknowledgement. He'd begun to fire at the Hustlers after his second RPG hit, but the returning gunfire was now cutting through the Lords.

Niko turned away from the slaughter and slung the RPG onto his back. He clutched his AK-47 with both hands as he bounded across the rooftop and jumped to the next. Then he ran and leapt across to yet another, landing in a roll, and running to the fire-escape.

Rami's retreat was similar. He'd remained hidden and jumped to another building, and taken the interior stairwell down.  
Niko and Rami both reached their car at the same time. Niko jumped in the driving seat and, as soon as Rami's door was shut, Niko put the car in gear. They could hear the gunfire and, even from four blocks away, as the police finally deployed their SWAT units, the war-like cacophony still echoed off of Algonquin's myriad high-rise buildings.

D'Amico and Greenhorn had problems though. They were followed by a battered Cavalcade. Gunfire was exchanged as they headed uptown and, at the foot of the bridge to Bohan, the Presidente coughed its last breath. Greenhorn leapt out of the car with a grenade, the pin already pulled. He ran – he wasn't a fast man, but the Lords weren't expecting it – and threw the grenade toward the cavalcade's open window.

But he missed. The grenade hit the frame of the door and bounced back. Greenhorn dropped to the floor as the grenade exploded, close enough to flatten one side of the SUV, killing the passenger. The driver, however, escaped unseen as Greenhorn followed his partner and his two friends toward Frankfurt High station.

One of Greenhorn's friends was formally a biker in The Lost Motorcycle Club and he was known to the surviving Lords driver. The Lords would later half-learn, half-assume that one of the men that attacked the Parlay was affiliated with The Lost MC. It would later be argued that either the Hustlers were in tight with The Lost, or the bikers were setting everyone up.


	9. (Part One) Italians and Russians: Part 1

Their next assignment was to cause more problems between Algonquin's Italian mafia families and the Russians over in Hove beach. This pleased both men, as it allowed them more finesse. Sniper rifles and car bombs were now options. But it wasn't the weapon choice that worried Rami. The Israeli had woken earlier then needed and hadn't seen any reason to go back to sleep for so short a time. Besides, he had an errand to run before meeting Niko. That was probably why he hadn't slept well.

He sat on a bench, looking out at the sea as a helicopter lifted off a ways from his left. The Statue of Happiness was visible to his right. The day was mostly overcast, but a break in the clouds lit half the famous statue up. Rami remarked on that; the statue of happiness, one half in glorious light, the other in the shadows. He saw himself in that one simple thing. He was one of the most successful operators in the city – perhaps the country – yet, work aside, he had what? A son who went to the grave without respecting his father, an ex wife, who's love Rami had eroded with his profession.

Rami suddenly wondered if that's why he and Niko got on. They both knew sorrow. Niko had become what he was due to unfortunate events, whereas Rami had unfortunate events happen to him because of what he was. The symmetry and irony was darkly beautiful, Rami reflected.

 _Is this why I work so much?_ Rami asked inwardly. _Do I hide in the very thing that destroyed me?_

 _That's who I am!'_ Rami heard his memory echo, ' _Right or wrong. Rich or poor. Ever since I was a child. Ever since I falsified my age to join the army_.

Rami looked down at his hands. _When did I get so old?_ Next he wondered how much blood was on these hands. _How many lives have these hands ended?_

Rami lit a cigarette. He enjoyed his work, despite the lows. He was good at it – can a man truly be good and killing another?  
 _At the end of the day, does it even matter? We all live, we all die. What choices we make in between are irrelevant. Does my career choice have any impact in the world? Have I killed The Next Hitler? Or have I prematurely ended the life of a man destined to solve world hunger? Some people are doctors, some people are writers, some people strive to make an impact on others' lives – successfully or not – others pursue the paycheck. Dead end jobs, one day to the next. Settling._

 _Some men terminate the lives of others._

 _Yeah, sure._

Rami clicked his jaw – a habit he did while contemplating important decisions. With that unaided movement of his mouth, hearing the _click!_ in his ear, he changed gears. He took a long final drag on the cigarette and flicked it nonchalantly into the water, standing and reverting to his usual self. Everyone died, few had their dreams come true. Only in the West did one pursue women, for example, based on appearance. Well, that wasn't actually true, was it? Human nature is human nature.  
 _And there is no greater human nature then the desire to wage war,_ Rami concluded. No, he was not ashamed of his choices. He did not regret his profession. In that moment he felt closer to Niko, but this was not the time to entertain such emotions. They had a job to do – which reminded Rami Yalon of his errand, one that he was still unsure about. More philosophical men would place their souls and pride on the scales to see which won. Rami saw it – fittingly – more in black and white. Loyalty or selfishness.

Contrary to what people thought, he was not a monster. He'd had a wife and a child, didn't that prove he was capable of love? So should he help an old friend, or work for his own benefit?

He paused and stared out at the sea again, more specifically out towards Broker.

"Fuck it," he said after a second, and headed to his car. Half an hour later he approached the door of a large, expensive house.

 _Point of no return_.

He took a breath and reached out.

Luis Fernando Lopez wanted to talk to someone about the strange phone call. But he couldn't. Armando would likely just rip into him – something that was getting tiresome. He wished the guy would get over his jealousy or whatever the hell it was. Luis had bent over backwards for him, and was he grateful?

Luis shrugged. That was just how Armando was. Since school, he'd always shown his 'love' by making fun of people. _At least he couldn't mock me for being skinny any more._

Henrique? No, he didn't have enough on the ball for that kind of conversation. They should hang soon – Henrique came out of his own when Armando wasn't around.

Who did that leave?

Who the hell was this person?

"You gonna work, or stare at the wall?" a voice sounded from behind him. "Hell, you see the girl that just walked in?"  
Luis looked up to see Dessie nodding towards a slender girl that walked towards the dance floor. She was wearing a pair of super-skinny jeans, that clung to her toned legs like a wet T-Shirt on Foam Night.

"Alright, easy tiger," Dessie said with a chuckle.

Luis waved him off. This girl was his next conquest. He smiled and turned to the barman to order a 'complimentary' bottle of champagne. So far no girl had resisted that – especially when they found out he ran this place. Hell, it even worked when he was Tony's monkey boy.

"Hey," a subtly playful voice sounded from his left. It was just loud enough to hear, but not loud enough to sound over-enthusiastic.

Luis turned and saw a woman who was probably close to the club's patrons' upper age bracket. She was still attractive though, and ordinarily, Luis wouldn't say no. _That girl's culo!_

Luis waved at the barman. "Give this girl a drink on the house." He turned to the woman. "Sorry, but I've got to take this bottle over to…" He pointed and walked off.

"That's fine. Michael can wait."

Luis froze. "What did you say?"

The woman smiled politely. "I said we'd meet soon."  
Luis motioned for the woman to follow him, but she didn't move. She flashed a naughty smile and motioned him over to her. Luis learned in as the woman whispered: "You've got to put on a little show. Make it look like you're pulling me or… I'm pulling you." She flashed a wink.

Luis smiled, forgetting the mystery and seeing his usual routine. _Another conquest_. He waved at the barman for two exotic drinks and, him being the boss, received them almost immediately. The woman sipped the drink and smiled.

"That's good."

Luis nodded and set his drink aside. He leaned in, stroking the nape of her neck, and settled his lips just below her ear, his breath causing her to close her eyes in mild pleasure as he spoke. He wondered if the reaction was real or not…

"So what's going on? You phone me, meet what, just to play around?"

"Keep the game going, big boy." She giggled before resting her hand on his chest. "How bout we go somewhere more… exclusive?"  
Luis smiled, "This way…"

The Dominican guided the woman from the bar, his hand resting on her buttock – and liking what he felt. If he was to play this game he might as well enjoy it. He offered a little squeeze too, getting a little _yelp_ from her.

A moment later they were in his office, having entered looking like they were about to kiss. The woman kicked the door shut then withdrew. The game was over.

"What was that?" she asked slapping at his hand.

"Hey, you chose the game, don't complain if a player's good at it."

The woman sighed and sat down. "Alright fine. Just so you know, we're not going to have sex."

Luis laughed. "I usually go for…"

"Younger girls?" _Kids_ , she wanted to say.

Luis stared for a minute then shrugged. "Yeah."

The woman shook her head. "Anyway, my name's Karen."

"Good to meet you Karen… I guess."

"And I suppose you want to know what's going on."

"Yeah. How much shit am I in?"

"A bit." Luis realized that this Karen still had her drink. She sipped at it. "Basically, something's going on, and the only person that knows is Michael." She sighed. "I'll start at the beginning:

"It all started in the Middle East. Michael was part of a squad sent to eliminate a group of mercenaries working with the insurgent forces out there. Only thing is one of them talked, and his unit learned some things. What they said I don't know. The mercenaries were all killed. Then, on returning to this country, someone jumped Michael – as you know. Trying to shut him up.

"At the same time my previous employer was killed and I believe that he was killed because he knew something about this. Michael is either a good guy with precious information, or he's a bad guy trying to be eliminated. Unfortunately, with my employer no longer being a link between myself and a once-valuable contact, I am pretty much on the outside. I no longer have access to the information through those two that I did, and I do not want to share this with anyone else, out of concern of…. corruption within my own company."

"That why we done all this charade?" Luis waved his hand at the club.

"Yeah. Sorry. My job's always involved lying to people. I'm ashamed to say, people got hurt." Luis saw regret wash over her face, and he had little doubt of its authenticity.

"So this Michael knows something, that what it's all about?"

"Yeah. I don't know if he's a good guy or a bad guy. The hit on him could have been done by the people who he's found out about, to shut him up, or it could be done by the good guys because he's a bad guy. Either way he's in possession of valuable knowledge."

"So you want to find him to find out what he knows."

"Yeah. I…" The woman sighed and took a large sip of her drink… two large sips. "I was assigned to watch someone. Some nobody from overseas. I wondered why the hell this guy was interesting. Petty crime. Turned out he had links to known big times out in Europe. It got complicated and let's just say I got too close. It didn't end well."

Luis didn't seem to care. "Right, so what you want from me?"

"With the… – yeah, I'd say assassination is the right word – of my employer, my connection with the contact is gone. In other words, I don't have anyone to help me here."

"You mean you want a lackey to run around and do your shit?"

"To be blunt…? Yeah."

"You gonna pay?"

"I can't give you a large paycheck, Luis, no. But I can offer you protection… to some extent. Get yourself picked up for boosting a car, I can get you out a couple of times – don't take the piss though. I can get you some – _some –_ good weapons, cars and information."

Luis's mind cast back to the 72 episodes he was watching. "So now I'm like Judd Parker?"

Karen laughed, but there was a dark undertone to it. "Not quite…. But kind of." She finished off her drink.

"So what you want me to do?"

"Find Michael Klebitz."

"How the hell am I gonna do that? He could be anywhere."

"He's with his brother – used to be in a motorcycle gang."

"Right. Find the biker gang?"

"Maybe he's hiding with them. Maybe they know places he might be. Safehouses, old haunts. That kind of thing."

"If I find him – then what. You want to kill him?"

"God, no. I need him alive. He knows too much."

Luis sighed, not wanting to hear any of this. _All I wanted was to get laid…_. "What if I say no?"

Karen stared, her eyes sad, as though she expected this but hoped otherwise nonetheless. "I'll be honest with you, I'll have run out of ideas."

"And this is important?"

"Yeah. I don't know what's going on, but something is, and it's big. Michael's the only person who can help, but he doesn't know there's any friendlies out there."

Luis sighed. "Alright, I'll do it, but you gotta tell me where to start. I ain't no detective."

"The Lost Motorcycle Club. The Alderney chapter is disbanded but not the Broker chapter."

"You think they'll help me?" Luis shook his head. "You know what these bikers are like, they hate outsiders. Why would they help me?"

"Use your charm." Karen stood. "Thanks for the drink."

Luis watched her leave and sighed. What the hell…?

"One thing about this city," Rami said into his headset, "is the criminals in it never change. There's always some deal going down." In this case that was a drugs deal between the Russians and some unknown drug ring. It was known that the Pavanos were at odds with the drug dealers, and word on the street had it that they'd placed a price on the drug dealers' heads. The Russians would be, of course, aware of this. Although this one would be more subtle than the last, Rami was confident the Russians would read this with their eyes closed. _Petrovic would_ , Rami told himself.

Niko stared through the rifle's scope, watching the shiny black car roll to a graceful stop. Out stepped the Russian lieutenant. _Probably quite high up in Petrovic's hierarchy_ , Niko thought. He moved with the authority and confidence of a lieutenant. He was quickly flanked by two burley men – one of which had opened the car door for him – and entered the park.

From his abstract perch atop the elevated rail, Niko could see most of the park and, in the distance, the pay n spray that had ended one of his first car chases with the LCPD. Niko resisted the urge to get sentimental, however. After he'd settled in Hove Beach he'd become fond of walking around this park. He knew the layout well – admittedly not hard seeing as it's only a small park. Right now he watched the Russian and his men enter the park. They had guns and the men were looking around.  
Niko's rifle rested on the rusted railings of the emergency access walkway that flanked the tracks, a blanket draped over him – Rami's idea – and attached using safety pins to prevent trains' turbulence from sweeping the blanket away. This way no one on board the train would see a gun man, but instead the hunched, blanketed shape of what was likely a homeless person. No one would pay any attention.

The drug dealers had entered the opposite end. Rami had taken position on the roof of an apartment building. Although Niko had selected an excellent position – in terms of angles and elevation – he would also suffer from the trains passing – the reason Rami had not taken such a perch. Whilst a train approached and passed, Niko's aim would no longer remain static or stable.

Niko also had the risky job – another reason why he'd chose the rail as his perch – escape. His first shot would take out the Russian lieutenant and immediately draw attention to himself. Farther shots would only expose himself more, and the Russians, with AK-47s – modified by the looks of it – would undoubtedly open fire rapidly.

Niko could quickly break the line of sight, by running north. There was a few buildings he could jump to, or he could reach the bridge, and if he got that far with no chase he'd be home free.

Rami however was obeying that most American of acronyms, KISS – Keep It Simple, Stupid. He'd parked a Sultan Sport behind the apartment building, accessible only by running out a side door and round the block or, in Rami's case, hopping out of a first floor window, to a carefully placed Dumpster. He'd had a few test runs at his 'escape' and, within two minutes, he'd be half a mile away, courtesy of the Broker Bridge. It would take a minute and a half – give or take a few seconds – for the Russians to reach the apartment building from the park and run round to the back. He'd also set up a nice trap for the Russians at the apartment entrance – consisting of a smoke grenade, a flashbang and a remote detonator. Another Ace that hid up Rami's sleeve was the gun he had. The serial number and identification he'd made no effort to remove. What that meant was the gun was easy to trace – something the Russians would probably do. Rami knew from his time with Kenny that the man had a few skilled trackers. Sooner or later they would trace the gun… to the gun store in Chinatown – next door to Little Italy. He was also using a rifle caliber known to be preferred to a Mario Antonelli, a known Pavano hitman. But none of these 'clues' would shout out at anyone. The Russians would have to do their homework. Then they'd uncover something they'd believe. Rami had had a lot of practice at this. Even his escape route – into Algonquin – would hint at the Italians. If the Russian's managed to chase him they'd lose him in Chinatown or – if they're good – Little Italy. It was there where he'd do his chameleon act. Ditch the car, duck out of sight and re-emerge a different person.

Rami Yalon had not evolved in to one of the best operators by luck alone.

Niko was tracking the Russian as Rami's voice sounded in his ear.

"We have our drug dealers entering the park. How's or Ruskie?"

"I'm on him. He looks like he grooms himself well. His hair is immaculate. Eyebrows look plucked or something." Niko never understood why American women – and men – plucked their eyebrows.

"Nancy boy." Rami completed the jokey exchange. They always seemed to make such observations and joke about them. "I've got our man in my sights. Waiting for your cue."

Niko waited until the deal began. A clichéd suitcase was opened and both sides began talking. Niko waited as a train rumbled by. Then, once his aim had settled he lined the sights up. He took a breath. Routine…

Rami's sights were centered on the drug dealer. The Russian was visible – just about – on the edge of his sights. He saw the man's well groomed head jerk forward with a splash of red. The man dropped and the drug dealer jumped back. The Russian's guns came up, their faces evident of raised voices. The dealer tried to protest his innocence then, as soon as Rami identified on a russian face that look – the change of the eyes when a man decided another would die – he fired. The drug dealer went down.

Niko's second shot caught a Russian in the shoulder. The man fell backwards, spinning, and faceplanted the floor.  
The second Russian goon had figured the general direction the shot had come from and opened fire. Niko heard a shot hit the rail ten yards from him. Nowhere near. He centered his sights on the man's head.

Rami's second shot caught one of the drug dealers in the chest. The man was thrown backwards, his body folding in mid air. The remaining drug dealer turned just as a Russian's eye exploded, covering him in a vile red. The man freaked out and ran. Rami let him go, rather turning his fire on the Russians. Attention had to be shifted toward Rami now.

Niko was getting gun fire – from the drug dealers, surprisingly. They were running in his general direction, leaving their vehicles, and ignoring their downed comrades. They were getting close enough that they'd see the shape of a gun man.

Time to leave, Niko decided. He got up and ran, taking his rifle and blanket with him. He left behind nothing.

Rami had gotten off several rapid shots, revealing his position. The Russians saw him and pointed, yelled, and begun shooting.  
Rami ducked out of sight and darted for the door – leaving his rifle. He ran down the stairs and took a quick look through the dirty window. He saw the outlines of the Russians through the grime, run out of the park and into the road.

Rami kept running.

Niko didn't think anyone would catch him. He had a direct route to the bridge. The people from the park would have to run round the block, _then_ follow the route of the tracks. He had at least a fifteen second advantage. Maybe as much as twenty. He also carried a couple of weights in a bag on his back. His legs burnt with about twenty kilograms of iron on him, and his back began to tire, but the bridge was in sight. He reached round and tore the bag off his shoulder. As he ran he fixed the bag securely – using zip-ties – to the rifle. He made sure every pocket was sealed so no ammo would escape. He glanced behind him, ensuring that no train was about to mow him down, then crossed the tracks.

Rami slipped out of the window and landed on the dumpster. He heard shouts from the front of the building as he reached his car. He'd pushed the unlock button on the keychain just before he exited the building so now he got in the car straight away. Five seconds later he was accelerating casually – no tire squeal – and slipped into traffic. Another ten seconds later he was ascending the on ramp for Algonquin. He glanced to his right and could just about make out a figure as a man reached the back of the apartment building. These guys were sharp, he told himself.

Niko was now jumping off the tracks onto the walkway on the north side of the bridge. He had intended to drop the gun off on the south side but realized that someone from Broker _may_ see that, so he changed his mind and headed to the north side.  
He had to jump, but he managed to hurl the bag and gun over the safety fence on the first go. He didn't wait for the _splash_ though, but ran on. He timed his run right and, as a train passed, ducked across the tracks. He emerged on the central – and busier – walkway unnoticed and slowed to a walk. He took off his gloves and pocketed them. His balaclava that hid his face was also in his pocket.

Rami didn't notice a tail. He was sure he was alone, but stuck to his routine. He parked his car in Chinatown and walked through a busy street and alley into Little Italy. He didn't check for tails – that would tell anyone following him that he knew they were there. Instead he ducked into a building – locking the door behind him, and recovered a hidden package.

Half a minute later he had a new jacket on, and biker pants over his slacks. A motocross helmet was slipped on as were gloves and he exited the front of the building to a bike he'd parked earlier. He was thankful no one had lifted it.

He gunned the engine and sped down the road. A minute and a half later he parked in a car park and disappeared into a subway station. He had another costume change there – taking off his biker jacket, pants and gloves, and stashing them in the helmet. He took his slacks off too – revealing shorts underneath – and took off his zip-up top. Now he was a man, with a T shirt and shorts. He donned a pair of shades, a used a plastic bag – waiting in his pocket – to carry the discarded clothing. The only thing he'd been unable to change was his shoes – he'd worn dark grey tennis shoes in the thought that they looked generic.

Niko had reached Algonquin unhindered. Any chaser would have opened fire. He caught a cab south – to Little Italy. There he entered a building via the back door and emerged out the front in different clothes. It was the same trick as Rami's and now Niko sat in a cab heading to the rendezvous.

Rami's train had taken him to his usual taxi change – then he'd walked the last block to the ULPC unofficial headquarters.

Niko was there before him, waiting for an elevator.

"Timing," Rami said, slapping his hand on Niko's shoulder.

Niko smiled. "Perfection." The two men laughed.

The new boss of United Liberty Paper took the news with a simple nod.

"That leaves the Italians in this round."

"I'm not sure we even need to make a move there," Rami said. "The Russians will find our little trail. They'll suspect the Italians for jumping this. Couple that with the fact the Italians have put a price on the dealers… they haven't even tried to hide it."

"And if the Italians say they didn't do it?" Niko asked.

Their boss nodded. "Rami, you've worked with these guys. Will the Russians believe the Italians if they say they had nothing to do with it?"

Rami screwed his face up. "Petrovic would investigate." He shook his head. "There's no way to prove they did or didn't. We have to be careful here. If the Italians are hit and blame the Russians… they might figure it out. Besides I didn't work with the Pavanos."

"So, do we hit them?"

Rami took a moment and stared out the window. He turned back and gave a sharp, militaristic nod. "Yes. But not in the same manner as the Russians." Rami was quiet for a second. "I know exactly what to do." He outlined his plan to the man across the desk. Afterward, Niko agreed with their boss. They had a go.

Luis sat in the internet café, a milky hazelnut coffee with a dash of caramel and frothy cream and chocolate sprinkles on top. A new Bean Machine had opened next door and a section of the internet café had been knocked through to join the two establishments. He rarely used the internet café but he liked 'his' coffee, and the staff were beginning to know him by face and remember his usual. He'd also managed to sweet-talk the regular girl into a discount.

Today though he felt too paranoid to use his own iFruit laptop, and had elected to use a public one – they can't track that right?  
What Luis was doing at the internet café was research. He'd run a search for Johnny Klebitz – it took him four attempts to get the right spelling – and had found some news reports. Most interestingly was an article about the incarceration of one of Johnny's friends.

Luis shut down the computer and stood, dropping his now-empty cup in a bin on the way out.

He flagged down a cab and stepped inside.

Luis rapped the address, and the cab pulled out into traffic.


	10. (Part One) Italians and Russians: Part 2

Their objective was a simple one, though not an easy one. For Niko it was _déjà vu_. They'd picked up the supplies in Willis and driven to Alderney. A new highway had recently been finished connecting Alderney, Bohan and Dukes. So Niko took the turn onto the Algonquin-Dukes expressway, turning off just before the airport, heading north. The new intersection stood in place of the turn for Meadows Park, a complex three exit clover. The highway no longer carried on west to Dukes Boulevard – instead Dukes Blvd looped round to this junction. The highway – open for two months now – headed north over the bay and flanked Bohan's Northern Expressway, making use of the empty land just next to it. Bohan had two intersections with the highway – one where a rarely-used car-park once sat, and the other being an extension of Uprock Street.

Another local road change that Niko had noticed was the now-finished connection between the East Borough Bridge and the Northern Expressway. Traffic in and out and around Bohan had been significantly improved by the changes, and Niko, with Rami in the passenger seat, had circumnavigated Bohan via the new bypass in just a couple of minutes.

The highway looped round the northern tip of Algonquin and was flanked on one side by the west river, and on the other by the higher elevation of Ivy Drive North and Grummer Road. The Hickey Bridge had been overhauled with the new highway now running underneath the old route, emerging beyond the turn for Hubbard and Franklin and connecting directly to the Skyway. The Westdyke turn had been improved too – adding a turn on/off on the southern side. It was this, newly completed turn that Niko used, following the off-ramp to the same location as the north-side off ramp. They drove past the target, resisting the temptation to turn their heads. Instead they allowed their eyes to do the work.

Niko turned onto Bedrock Street and a minute later pulled over to a small no thrills motel – one that sprung up a year and a half ago and seemed to thrive, catering to all sorts of shady characters. Niko entertained the image of a Senator coming here to have illicit relations with his secretary.

"You know that's the first time I've actually driven on that road," Niko observed. "I'm glad they added the second Westdyke turn too." Both men did a lot of driving, thus took a natural interest in the road systems.

"Shame they can't sort the tunnel out," Rami added. LTA had not – despite residents' wishes - made any efforts on the Booth Tunnel bottleneck. Niko was reading an article just a few days ago about the public's annoyance over it.

"Didn't they reopen the ferry terminal?" Rami asked as the men entered the reception. In December 2007, the Algonquin side of the Algonquin ferry line, based by Golden Pier, had burnt down – it was suspected to be due to gang activity. Rami paid for the room as the men continued their discussion.

"Yeah but that only had a small effect," Niko said. "The traffic problem's still as bad as it was. Besides, you have to pay for the ferry."

"Saying that, how would they expand it?" Rami led his partner out of the reception. "They'd have to close the tunnel for months."

"But they could expand the entrance tunnels one way, route the traffic through that while they do the other one."

"But that would mean shutting the tunnel anyway, then the bottleneck would be worse." The two reached their room and entered.

"But after that it'd be better." Rami shut the door.

"That'll do," The Israeli said with a chuckle.

Luis Fernando Lopez was nervous. He stood outside the biker bar in Broker, half a dozen 'hogs' lined up beside him. An old battered pick-up sat the other side of him. It was the first time he'd seen a four wheeled vehicle outside such establishments, not that paid that much attention. He took a deep breath and moved forward.

The bar was exactly what he expected; slightly dark, with a slightly smokey atmosphere – no one here cared about the smoking ban. Hard-rock was playing on the classic jukebox, and there was the audible clinking of glasses as the patrons slowly got wasted. Hoarse voices roared and laughed, and profanities were plentiful.

Contrary to cliché, the bar did not fall silent like Luis expected it to. Nevertheless, Luis felt a dozen eyes on him, and none of them were friendly. He made a beeline straight to the bar and waved for the bartender, who deliberately took his time to get to him. No one came up to Luis, no one asked him to leave or to 'step outside'. In some ways, that made Luis more uncomfortable.

"Yo," the barman said with a nod. Neither gesture was as friendly as it looked, and Luis knew it.

"I'm looking for someone."

"Dating agency's up the road," the barman growled.

Luis laughed nervously. "Used to be in the Alderney chapter?" A few nearby heads turned – likely former Alderney chapter members. The barman stared for a moment before deciding the best way to get rid of this spic was to play ball. Still…

"You a cop or something?"

Luis scoffed. "Do I look like a cop?"

"You look like a rich boy." A nearby patron grunted rousing some laughs from his friends. Luis shook his head.

"He's in a world of shit." Luis decided to throw a little truth in there. "He's got a price on his head and, to be honest, I'm trying to help him."

"You some kind of nancy boy then? Trying to save your boyfriend?"

Luis chuckled. "No, I have a different girl pretty much each night." Luis heard a distant voice say 'Yeah right', and decided to add more information. "I'm just trying to protect a fellow soldier."

"You're a soldier?" The man perked up.

"And my captain's in danger. He's the brother of Johnny Klebitz who was a member of the Alderney chapter."

The barman chewed on his lip for a moment. "I served my country too," he said after a minute. "First Gulf war. I don't know Johnny though – not that Johnny anyway."

"Any former Alderney guys in here?"

The barman nodded. "Bear over there, with the cigar." Luis saw a largely overweight man in the corner, smoking a cigar. "He steals those things from some dealer in Algonquin. That's what he claims anyway. Some people say he really buys them but no one's stupid enough to call him on it. If you're gonna approach him, do something good… get him a drink. That will stop him snapping your skinny neck – at least while he's drinking it."

"Alright then." Luis slapped a bill on the bar. "Get him a double. Me too."

Luis put the glass on the table in front of the man – he mentally questioned how the man stayed on a bike. That was a strange image, the man was probably three time Luis's size.

The man – Bear – looked up and slowly pulled the cigar out of his mouth. He stared at Luis then, after a minute, said: "Yes?"

"Drink for you," Luis said.

The man's face tightened. "You coming on to me?!"

"Nah, bro, I ain't like that." Luis shook his head. "I want a favor."

"Can't be much of a favor." Bear picked up the glass and downed it in one go. "What?"

"I'm looking for someone."

"Do I look like a matchmaker? Fuck off." The man returned the cigar to his mouth.

Luis held his hand up. "Johnny Klebitz."

Bear blinked and withdrew the cigar again. "Johnny K?"

"Yeah."

Bear sighed and kicked out a stool. "Sit." Luis sat, immediately regretting it. The stool was hard and massively worried what fluids might have been dried on it. "So, Johnny K. There's a story for ya. Goddamned club tore itself apart."

"So you know where he is?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. One thing about MCs is we stick together. I wouldn't go against Johnny or even Brian and Billy."

"Who?"

"Forget it. You want me to help you… why the hell should we?"

It was then that Luis realized this beastly man was the leader of this chapter – or, if not the leader, then a very senior member.

"How about a favor for a favor?"

Bear took a deep nasal breath and exhaled through his mouth as he thought about it. "Alright. A favor for a favor." Bear slid a cigar box across the table and opened it. "Take one."

Luis obeyed and Bear cut and lit it. Luis wasn't a big smoker but he knew how. He took a breath in, let it fill his mouth then exhaled.

"Good aren't they?" Bear growled. Luis nodded. "That's a gift. Now I get these from some Jewish guy in The Exchange. Ironic that. But lately he's been up to it. Last month I almost got killed by the Yiddish prick. I want you to go steal some. Simple."

"And in return?"

"I'll point you in the right direction. That's it. It's that, or the door." Bear took a pull on the cigar. "Remember my little gift." In other words: _You owe me_.

Luis sighed then held out his hand. "You got a deal." Bear grabbed his hand with his gloved hand, his grip almost breaking Luis's fingers.

Niko Bellic, 32, and Rami Yalon, 48, sat in the black Rebla as they pulled up to the car showroom. They stepped out of the vehicle, balaclavas and gloves on, and pulled out their AK-47s. The men spilt up, as per their plan. Rami crossed the forecourt, weaving in and out of cars, as Niko headed straight for the main entrance.

Niko kicked open the door and strolled in. He brought his AK-47 up and fired at the people inside. Rami, at the far side of the forecourt, moved into the building and began throwing out cross-fire.

A few customers panicked, some managing to flee into the forecourt. Rami and Niko let them go. The Italian goons were all reacting – drawing their guns. But the attacking duo held the advantage; their guns were already out and aimed.

While some Italians tried to shoot Niko, others tried to turn for cover, but were presented with Rami, whose gun was perforating the men his side. They fell immediately and the men caught with their pants down in the middle were slaughtered just as quick.

It took under two minutes. _Like shooting fish in a barrel_ , Niko thought.

Once all the men were taken out, and the duo had done a quick sweep of the building, they moved back outside and to their Rebla.

Rami opened the trunk and pulled out two duffel bags. Niko took one and headed to the forecourt. Rami headed inside the building.

Niko moved from car to car, placing the satchel charges under each car's gas tank. Each satchel was programmed, and with a push of a button, Niko set up a delay. The Russians had become known – just like the Italians – for sending messages. The Italians would read this with their eyes closed. They'd know the Russians had hit the place – both Rami and Niko were sure that one goon had escaped. That meant that reinforcements would be here in minutes.

Rami had placed his charges – stronger than Niko's – in strategic places around the building. The two met up and headed to their Rebla. Niko drove off, taking it round the corner and parking under the skyway, the car dealership just visible.

They waited.

Luis made his way across to Algonquin, and checked out the cigar store. The establishment was decorated, outside and in, with an expensive looking wood. Luis opened the heavy door and walked in, instantly greeted with the unique smell of cigars waiting for consumption. It was a new smell for Luis. He'd smelt the smoke, but never smelt freshly made ones. Did they make them here, or just sell them?

"Can I help you?" a Hispanic man in a white suit stood behind the counter, a welcoming smile on his tanned and gracefully aged face.

"Just looking bro."

The man nodded, his smile still there, but less sincere. He went back to a book he'd laid on the counter. Luis felt his eye on him though.

As Luis looked in the humidors and cases – all locked probably – for the right brand. He allowed his eyes to wander and began to case out the joint.

The counter was the usual counter – made out of a dark wood – and Luis suddenly realized why he'd walked through two doors coming in to the shop. This place used to be a jeweler and had the airlock-styled double security door. A straight up raid was out then.

Luis turned to see the white-suited Cuban – he looked like a Cuban – standing next to him.

"Most people do not spend time _looking_ at cigars. Can't decide, friend? You can sample them – I sell them individually too."

"I'm looking for a specific brand," Luis said.

The man smiled. "Ah. What brand?"

"El Burro del Diablo."

The man nodded. "Hmm." He walked to a humidor then stopped, facing Luis. "They're not very popular. Not that cheap and not really that good." The man scoffed. "There's only a few people that buy them."

"Any trouble with thieves?" Luis waved to the door.

"Sometimes. I've lost the odd shipment but it's rare enough that there's nothing I can do. No one's stupid enough to try to steal from here directly. So you want the cigars?"

"Yeah how much for a box, bro?"

"Two-fifty for ten."

Luis blinked, genuinely surprised at the price. "Erm, that's more then I have on me."

"Then may I suggest coming back when you do?"

Luis nodded and laughed. "Sorry bro. This is embarrassing. My brother's getting married and you smoke these at that time don't you?"

"That is true. But for weddings, I'd recomend..."

"I'll come back when I got time… when do you get new stock in? I don't wanna come here and you've run out."

"We won't run out. I get new shipments once a month. It's a slow – but steady – market."

"So when's the best time to come in then?"

The man shrugged. "Delivery's on the first of every month. So the second or so." Then his jaw set and he frowned. "But as I said you won't run the risk of running out of stock – especially with the _Burros_. Some of the Cubans do run out, but with those we get monthly orders so we ensure we have enough. Allow me to get the security door for you," the man said, deciding to warn his so-called customer. Luis guessed that security would be beefed up tonight.

It took five minutes. Both men had made a bet, and now Niko laughed. "Pay up," he said.

Rami shook his head. He thought it'd be under five minutes – Niko thought longer. By about six or seven seconds, Niko had won.

The two SUVs came to a screeching halt and the men began to pile out.

"Now?" Niko asked. Rami nodded with a smile. Niko pushed the button.

The first Italian out of the vehicle led the rest toward the showroom. He was pushed back by the shock of an explosion – two to be precise – as the cars nearest the road leapt into the air, flipping in a ball of flame.

Before any of the men could recover or even curse, the next two exploded. A domino effect of explosions rocked the forecourt, each one half a second behind the last, until the building itself went up. The final explosion – or group of explosions – actually threw all of the men back, as well as tossing the burning vehicles carcasses over. One of the SUVs fell to its side and the flames took hold of the ruined building.

Niko and Rami both exclaimed incomprehensibly as the chain of explosions rocked the ground. They could feel the shock and heat even in the car. The windows were open and they even felt the heat.

"Impressive!" Niko said after a second, putting the car in gear. They'd left the engine – and their balaclavas – on. Niko accelerated.

"What the fuck!?" the lead Italian cried out, picking himself up. One of his men was dead – hit by a flaming bit of wreckage and another was somehow caught light, but had shed his jacket quickly and was now jumping on it.

"Somebody tell me what the – "

Niko drove past at a crawl, and Rami leant out of the window. The Italians were surprised, and disorientated by the explosions. Rami wasted no time – he'd reloaded his gun a minute ago, and now squeezed the trigger in his almost automatic controlled manner.

Three Italians went down immediately as Niko played his part. The Serbian tossed a grenade out of the window and hit gold. The projectile landed right next to one of the SUVs, which jumped up as the explosion tore the bodywork apart. Another Italian was killed by the grenade, as Rami took down two more. That left three men.

" _Dvigat'sya!_ " Rami called out. Niko floored it. Within seconds they had drifted round the corner and out of sight. Unsurprisingly they were not followed.


	11. (Part One) Close but no Cigar

Karen – whoever she was – was no help. Luis had elected to go alone – he had little choice really. Karen didn't want to know about the crime he was to commit, but she'd conceded that it was a necessary evil. Instead he'd searched for the Cuban store's website and found out that their cigars – those not handmade on site – were delivered from Vice City via plane. Luis had checked the arrivals on Francis International Airport's website and found out when the Vice City Cargo plane was due.

And now Luis was at the airport, waiting for the delivery truck to leave. He almost missed it – he'd actually sneezed. That's something you don't see in spy films. Luis had the image of the world legendary spy, going to save the world, hiding in the shadow, and having a sneezing attack and being found and killed.

His chosen vehicle was an Akuma, stolen from Rotterdam Hill. He gunned the engine and pulled out his Uzi.

The truck's driver was a forty year old freight employee. This was considered a low risk job, so he earned little more than minimum wage. It wasn't a thrilling job – which was precisely why he took it. Relaxing, sort of. He had the radio on – tuned to Alderney State Talk Radio, or A.S.T.R – and enjoyed the various shows. His favorite show was on now – actually a gardening show. Gardening was his favorite–

He didn't see the biker, nor hear the gunshots, but he felt the vehicle drop on the left and control was lost. He applied the brake but the windscreen shattered as the truck spun to his left.

He'd never been shot before so when pain shot through his shoulder and his arm went numb, he thought it was a heart attack. He panicked and clutched at his arm. That's when he saw the blood.

He cried out as more bullets hit the truck – he wasn't sure from where – and pulled the E-brake. He opened the door and practically fell out of the vehicle. He saw a figure approach but ignore him. Instead the figure jumped in the truck and sped off.  
The man crawled to the side of the road and pulled out his cell phone. The first call was to the cops. The second was to his wife.

Luis managed to reach the Algonquin-Dukes expressway before the police caught up with him. They were coming from the opposite direction and screeched to a halt, crossing the expressway and following the stolen truck. He glanced in the rear view mirror to see a few more police cars – N.O.O.S.E Patriots to be precise – in the distance. He guessed they'd come from the airport police station, that Luis had passed.

Luis switched gears and drifted to the left-hand lane. The police cars followed, but Luis downshifted and jerked the wheel hard-right. The truck surged across the expressway, crashing through the water barrels and catching the off-ramp at the latest possible moment. All the LCPD cars overshot the ramp, one of them actually crashing into the concrete divider as another grazed the barrier. The N.O.O.S.E vehicles were far enough back to follow the stolen truck easily enough.

Luis pulled off a risky powerslide at the bottom of the ramp, going on two wheels, but counter steering and accelerating quickly enough to bring the truck back on four wheels. In fact he almost flipped the _other_ way.

The N.O.O.S.E vehicles followed as the truck skirted the acute intersection, heading through the bus station. Luis set his sights and put his foot down. He was used to the feeling of acceleration present in Bullets, Super GTs, Comets and other super cars. This truck, however, lacked the torque. Right now, Luis would have killed for that. He guided the truck through the busy bus station, dodging a moving bus and threading the needle between two loading buses. The N.O.O.S.E vehicles followed as Luis threw the truck down the hill past the children's playground. A minivan slammed their brakes on as Luis's truck crashed onto Mohawk Avenue, narrowly avoiding the minivan. The first N.O.O.S.E Patriot, however, didn't. It ploughed straight into the minivan, flipping the civilian vehicle and itself careering off into a lamppost.

Luis now had a small lead on the pursuing vehicles, and he guided the truck in between the Algonquin Bridge's support structures, and up the steps with a violent jolt.

The Patriots had no problem climbing the steps, though they'd slowed. Luis accelerated hard as he leveled out, sounding the horn to clear the way of pedestrians. The pedestrians jumped and dived out of the way, many scrambling onto the train tracks. Luis threw his elbow out and smashed the truck's window. He checked the wing mirrors to see the first Patriot level out. Using the mirror to help him aim, Luis fired backward. Two shots, three shots. They missed, but the cops would now know his intent. The fourth shot, however, struck the Patriot's windshield. Luis saw the Patriots drop back considerably.

Luis gave the truck everything, as lampposts began striking the front of the truck. More people screamed and did their best to evade the truck, though one or two failed. The lampposts clattered to the floor. They slowed the cops down even more.

Luis Fernando Lopez was no stranger to dangerous driving. He still had the naïveté of youth, and was a regular on the underground racing circuit. Such experience led him to being accustomed to good braking. A trait this truck did not have. He had to slam the brakes full on as he reached the Algonquin side of the bridge. Luis almost crashed into the roof of the small tunnel as the brakes began to smoke. The truck jolted downward and Luis had to fight the downforce, as well as the temptation to brake fully.

By the time the truck hit the bottom of the steps – which broke the front bumper clean off – he had a considerable lead. In a moment of quick thinking, he spun the wheel left, turning again. The cops didn't see the turn so, by the time they'd reached Albany Avenue, Luis was already out of sight, heading south, across the tennis courts east of Albany Avenue. The police and N.O.O.S.E cruisers and Patriots split, heading north and south.

Luis maneuvered the truck down some steps and ended up beneath Union Drive East. He stopped the truck under the Union Drive East/Gernet Street intersection and hurried to the waiting car.

"We better be getting a good cut, L," Armando Torres rapped, stepping out of the new-model Bobcat – this version had a hardtop covering on top of the rear flatbed.

"Don't worry, once I delivered what I need, you get the rest, bro."

"Hey," Henrique said, appearing beside Luis as if by magic. "You reckon we could cut these with weed?"

Armando raised his eyebrows. "That's not a bad idea, man." He nodded.

"Yeah, do the business meeting later, A?" Luis nodded toward the truck. "We gotta shift this quick."

The three men moved to the truck and begun unloading it. Once done, they retrieved three cans from the Bobcat and proceeded to soak the truck – inside and out – in gasoline.

"You know you don't get this much anymore," Armando said.

"What?" Luis replied, making sure to drop some gasoline on the wheels.

"Using gasoline to burn a truck – in fact people usually siphon it out first. We should have done that – used the truck's own fuel to burn it."

"Aint enough time, bro," Luis said, emptying his can. All three men wore gloves, more to avoid getting the pungent liquid on their hands than anything else, and deposited the empty cans in a bin liner in the Bobcat's cabin.

"Let's go!" Luis called out, igniting the gasoline. Armando squeezed in to the middle seat and laughed.

"You're driving, L."

Luis shook his head and tossed the crash helmet under the seat. He ignited the engine and spun the 4x4 round, heading up the steps, ironically right next to the police station.


End file.
